The Other Side of the Mirror
by SlimReaper
Summary: "I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose.." Loki arrives on Earth in wrath, but his fall through Chaos has shown him other possibilities, other endings, other paths he might've taken. The difference? A woman... Mirrors and Shadows AU. Loki/OC. Warning, graphic flashbacks, torture, Loki's life is terrible, everything is awful, read the myths, you've been warned.
1. Arrival

_I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose…_

The flying machine crashed behind him in a ball of fire and magic, and Loki finally allowed his muscles to unclench. To lean against the side of this vehicle his new slaves had stolen and close his eyes. Just for an instant, just long enough to reach for his magic–_weak, too weak, too much used in the maelstrom created by the Tesseract, but the journey would've stripped the skin from his bones in ice and fire__ if he hadn't_–and wrap it carefully around the worst of his internal injuries.

Unkind, for the Chitauri to send him off in such a condition. His lips curved in an expression only a fool would take for a smile. The least they could have done after he'd finally been persuaded to agree to their plan was to stop the torments long enough for him to arrive on Midgard battle-ready. It had given him a moment's pause when he'd arrived and seen the number of enemies standing between him and his goal. A solid blow in any of a number of points would have rendered him helpless.

But the mortals guarding the Tesseract had been so _weak_. Their projectile weapons hadn't even scratched him. Only two were worthy adversaries–one currently piloting this vehicle, fully under Loki's thumb, and the other, the one-eyed warrior who'd reminded him unpleasantly of Odin, now likely dead in the flying contraption's wreck. Perhaps the Chitauri had known Loki wouldn't have to strain himself to defeat such pitiful foes.

Or perhaps they simply hadn't cared. Perhaps his pain, and their power in inflicting it, was its purpose.

"No matter," he whispered, opening his eyes again as the searing, grinding agony within him eased a bit. The night around him was beautiful and cold, the faint Midgard stars like diamond dust on velvet, the wind in his hair tasting of freedom. Headier than Frigga's wine, that._ Freedom._

An illusion, but he was a master of illusion, and this one was welcome.

"Sir? Our destination?

The slave who drove–Barton, he'd been called–called back to him. He'd have to teach them his correct address, but for now _sir_ would suffice, especially when said in that submissive way.

Loki focused. He was getting distracted by trivialities, a side effect of pain and fatigue. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. Yes, he had the Tesseract, and that was enough for the Chitauri and their cruel master, but there was one other thing he wished to collect. This one just for him.

"San Diego," he replied loudly enough to be heard over engine and wind. "Take me to the college there."

**An explanation for those of you WTFing: Yes, we are in an Alternate Universe from my other Loki stories. Why?**

**Once upon a time in the far-off land of The Interwebs, a reader reviewed Mirrors and Shadows after seeing Avengers and made a comment like, "Wonder what would've happened if Loki had met Taryn after his fall instead of before it?" And DAMN YOU FOR GETTING MY PLOT BUNNIES ALL EXCITED because you KNOW I had to write that. I THOUGHT I WAS GETTING CLOSE TO DONE WITH THEM! And now I'm so not.**

**This is eating my brain. (Not enough to make me not finish M&S, don't worry–the happy ending fairy will visit Loki and Taryn over there, I promise!) I'll go through the reviews over there at a later date–seriously, wow, y'all rock because there's_ so many_–and find out who you are, O Reviewer Who Awoke My Plot Bunnies, and out you to the world. But for now, you know who you are, and consider this a gift-fic. Hope you enjoy it!**


	2. Acquisition

**IT'S FOREVERACHARMEDONE'S FAULT. Yes, it is. The comment was:_ I'm sorta curious to see, since it's been established that Loki having known and loved Taryn stopped so much pain and potential bloodshed, what Avengers!Loki would have been like if he was only just meeting her as he sought to take over the world…_**

**HOW COULD I RESIST THAT? **

**Time for Loki to meet Taryn. Oh yeah, this is not going to be her usual Tuesday afternoon class…**

.

Taryn Roswell breathed deeply, centering herself in the privacy of her office as the pounding footsteps of the students entering the lecture hall echoed through the door. God, she hated this! If she could just have a university post without the public speaking, that would be _perfect_.

Unfortunately, Comparative Mythology wasn't exactly an up-and-coming field of study that required pure researchers, and while her books sold well for their type, she would never make enough from royalties to live on that alone. Hence her daily struggle with stage fright in an attempt to educate students who were only looking for an easy A. Her class wasn't easy–anything but–and yet she still had scads of idiots sign up because they wanted a class they could sleep in.

It would almost be worth this agony if she were actually addressing people who were _interested_.

Drying her damp palms on the skirt of her neat navy suit, she straightened to her full height–helped by a pair of higher-than-were-comfortable heels–and entered the lecture hall.

"Settle down, let's get started," she said briskly as she flipped on the overhead projector and connected it to her laptop. "We're continuing our study of Norse gods and goddesses today." She waited a moment to allow for the opening of notebooks and laptops, then clicked to start the slideshow.

An engraved image of a muscular, beardless man bound atop irregular stones appeared on the screen. A beautiful woman with long flowing hair and dressed in a short, sleeveless gown crouched awkwardly on the stones above him, holding out a shallow bowl beneath a snake on a stunted tree. Its fangs fully extended, it dripped venom into the bowl. In the background, a bearded man pounded a spike into stone, securing the chains. The prisoner's desperation and hopelessness were clear on his face and in every line of his tense body.

"Loki and Sigyn," Taryn said, making herself look away from the evocative image and face her class once more. For just a moment she stared over their heads, then she returned her gaze to her notes. "This is Loki's punishment for the death of Baldur, which we discussed last time. His faithful wife Sigyn chose to share in his punishment so that she might mitigate some of his suffering. Who can tell me who the man in the background is?"

"Thor, of course. He always did love to see me punished."

Taryn looked up sharply at the elegant, deep voice from the back of the hall–there were few enough students who answered her questions, and none of them sounded like _that_. A tall, dark-haired man in some kind of strange armor stood at the back of the room, flanked on either side by men she could only think of as thugs–too many muscles and too much black.

"You're not one of my students," Taryn said, fighting down a sense of panic. It was ridiculous to feel frightened–the campus was safe, and this man looked more like someone out of the drama department than a terrorist–but she was frightened all the same. His friends were a bit alarming, it was true, but they were just standing there, empty hands in plain sight.

The man with the beautiful voice walked forward. "Indeed not," he agreed. She noticed the staff in his hand for the first time–curved, golden, with some kind of glowing blue light at the end. Another shiver chased down her spine. That thing looked dangerous. "I did not come so far to listen to ancient tales."

"I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait until my class is finished," she replied firmly. Whatever this guy wanted, she was in charge here, and the safety of her students was her responsibility. "You can contact the office to make an appointment."

He continued unperturbed. "A king does not make appointments, Taryn Roswell."

And she finally met his eyes.

_Insane,_ was the first word that screamed across her mind. Those green eyes swirled with madness. Madness and rage, and power. She couldn't say what kind–couldn't even be sure how she knew of it–but the power was there, it was absolutely inhuman, and it was terrifying. His outfit, black leather and green cloth and golden plates of armor, no longer looked overly dramatic at all.

"Who are you?" she whispered, knuckles white on the lectern.

His smile was all edges, a blade made of straight white teeth. "Have you not heard the phrase,_ speak of the devil and he shall appear_?" he murmured. She shied away from his meaning-it was impossible. "But your drawing is inaccurate, my dear. The rocks were much sharper and the snakes far more numerous. Odin would never be so merciful."

Involuntarily her gaze fell on the image on her computer again before she shook herself. "Don't be ridiculous. Loki is a myth, the tale merely allegory." She said it to convince herself more than him.

His face tightened as if she'd struck him. "Your ignorance offends me–you, who are meant to know _better_, to _understand_," he snarled, and suddenly thrust out a hand that flashed with blue light.

The screen behind her exploded amid her students' screams. She screamed too, both from fear at the destruction and horror at what had flashed across the screen beforehand, a scene from the most terrifying of nightmares–

_–the man before her bound with chains of gory flesh, stretched screaming across spiked stones that pierced through his body, and the multitude of snakes writhing over him, biting and tearing with serrated fangs dripping with acidic venom, eating away at his flesh, and the woman holding the bowl, using it to try and scoop the serpents off him, sloshing fire and agony over him with every movement, shrieking and weeping at her helplessness and his pain, and surrounding it all, galleries of laughing revelers–_

She fought not to be sick. It was almost a relief when her computer combusted in a blaze of that same blue light. "No, it's not possible," she said, trying for a brisk dismissal that only came out weak, as if her disbelief was directed at her own words instead of the impossibility of his.

"What you deem possible or impossible are no concern of mine," he replied, calm once more, that mad green gaze holding hers again-and of course he was mad, how could he not be after that? "Now will you dismiss your students, or shall I?"

The velvet smoothness of that voice didn't change but Taryn heard the threat in the silken words nonetheless. She had no desire to see that blue light of his used on flesh instead of technology. "Class–class is dismissed," she managed. "Go, get out, now!"

One young man, braver than the rest who had immediately stampeded for the exits, hesitated. "Professor–"

The two thugs shifted and one of them somehow pulled a bow from nowhere. "Go _now_, Todd," Taryn repeated, finally finding her stern voice beneath the fear. Her class, her students, her responsibility to protect–if anyone was going to be hurt by this madman and his henchmen, it would be her. "It's fine. I'll be fine. Just go." She had to believe that–besides, at least one of her students was surely smart enough to call the cops before tweeting all about it, right?

When the doors closed again behind the departing students, Taryn forced herself to meet the man's–no, _Loki's_, it could be no one else but the God of Mischief and Lies–eyes again. "What do you want?" she asked, and she was proud that her voice only trembled slightly. "If you are who you say you are, I don't know what I could possibly offer you."

"Ah, but there is something you can offer me." He closed the last bit of distance between them and raised his hand. She flinched, but he only cupped her cheek. "Sigyn was a mistake. She never understood," Loki murmured, almost tenderly, if only she ignored the insanity in his eyes. "But you, my lady, you _will_ understand me. I have seen it."

He leaned closer and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to pull away in terror. "I will rule this world, and you will be my queen," he whispered, and brushed the softest of kisses across her lips.

And as if his lips carried a venom all their own, Taryn spiraled down into blackness.

.

**The image Taryn was using is the iconic Loki In Chains. Stupid fanfiction won't let me put in a link, and I can't even put in spaces enought to make it quit flocking it up, so just google "Loki in chains" to see it, all right? It's very evocative. **


	3. In the Lair

Taryn awoke with the kind of headache that makes self-decapitation sound like a good idea.

She groaned and raised a hand to her forehead–or at least, she _tried_ to raise a hand to her forehead. Chain clinked and a cold constriction around her wrist prevented the movement and that was enough to make her open her eyes.

Light stabbed her cruelly, momentarily blinding her before it was cut off by the shadow of someone leaning over her. "Relax. You're safe," a man told her.

She squinted and could just make out short, light-brown hair and sharp blue eyes. "I'm handcuffed," she said, realizing it as she tugged ineffectually again. Panic and anger rose in equal measure. "How is that safe?"

"Just to keep you from doing anything stupid before you were fully awake," he replied, and to her shock, he reached down and unlocked the cuffs. "No one here will hurt you."

Oh, how she wished she'd dreamed all this! But as her vision cleared, she recognized one of the men who'd stood at Loki's shoulder when he'd kidnapped her from her lecture hall. "Who are you? Where are we?" She didn't really expect answers, but it was in her nature to question. Still, she had to force the last one out. "Where is_ he?"_

"I'm Clint Barton. We're in a safe place. And the big guy is currently out."

Yet another surprise, that he'd actually answered! "The big guy, huh," she repeated dryly as she struggled belatedly into a sitting position on the edge of the cot–well, if they weren't going to call him Loki, she certainly wasn't. Her head screamed with pain at the movement and she groaned again, cradling it in her hands. This felt exactly like the concussion she'd had last year after a bike crash, which made sense. She sure as hell hadn't fainted on her own. "Which one of you broke my skull?" she asked, feeling around for lumps.

"No one, but he said you might wake up with a headache." She heard the scuff of a step, a soft clink, and another step as he returned and crouched down beside her. "He left this for it."

Taryn cracked an eyelid open to see Clint holding out a little glass vial. The liquid within it was a vivid, poisonous green, and if her eyes weren't playing tricks on her–something she wasn't certain of, the way it was throbbing–was it actually _glowing?_ "Oh, I am _not_ drinking that."

He shrugged. "Up to you," he said, apparently unconcerned. "He said it'd take care of your headache, though."

"Yeah, it looks like it." Taryn closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. "It looks like it'd take care of it fatally."

"Hey, didn't I tell you no one here would hurt you? I wouldn't give you something toxic."

"Forgive me if I don't believe my kidnapper," she grumbled back. She wished he'd stop talking and go away. His deep voice was playing hell with her migraine.

She heard him sigh as if exasperated with her stubbornness. "We've got orders," he said after a moment, and if he really was frustrated, none of it showed in his tone. "You've got the run of the place. No one will lay a hand on you. We're to get you anything you want."

Taryn lifted her head again and stared at him in disbelief. "Great. Tell me how to get out of here," she said sarcastically.

He pointed over his shoulder at the barely-open door. "Down the corridor, third left, up the ramp, another left, then a right and a ladder. You'll come out on the street."

Now she literally gaped at him. "You're not funny," she said, but despite knowing that this had to be a trick, she filed the information away. _Third left, ramp, left, right, ladder, street._ Just in case. "You'd really let me walk right out of here?"

He nodded, but he was frowning now. "I'd rather you didn't, though. If you did, we would be punished."

"Punished?" The word reminded her of after-school detention, groundings, withholding of allowance money. It didn't fit with this muscular tough-guy at all.

He nodded, and now there was genuine worry in his expressive eyes. "The boss isn't forgiving."

Understanding dawned with a clench of her stomach as Taryn remembered her computer and overhead screen exploding in a flash of blue light, and the horrific scene of punishment they had shown in the instant before their destruction. Would a man who'd endured such terrible torture inflict it on others? The insanity in his eyes said he would. "I won't leave," she whispered, a wave of nausea rising to join her head in making her miserable.

His face split in a grin of pure relief. "Thanks. I appreciate that." He held out the little glass vial again. "This really won't hurt you, you know. You mean too much to him. He wouldn't do that to you. Are you sure you don't want to take it? You look like hell, if you'll forgive my honesty."

She shook her head, then regretted it. "I'm not drinking that," she repeated firmly. "And I can't mean that much to him–I don't even know him. I'm not taking anything on faith."

He placed the vial carefully on the rickety wooden table beside her cot. "If you change your mind," he just said mildly, then stood. "Anything I can get you?"

She started to tell him to just leave her alone, then reconsidered. "Some ice would be good," she finally said. Some aspirin would be better, but she wasn't going to take any pills offered by the people who'd kidnapped her. An ice pack would at least offer some relief. "And a bathroom?"

"Sure. This way," Clint replied, and he had her hand and tugged her to her feet–her shoes were gone, she belatedly realized–before she could yank it away from him. She would have to remember how fast he could move. He led her out the door and opened the door across a dank, dimly lit concrete hall that looked like something out of a horror movie. "Right in here."

It looked like he planned to accompany her inside. "I can take it from here," Taryn said quickly, holding up a hand. Definitely not going to pee in front of this guy, nope. "Why don't you go menace someone else for a little while, okay?"

He frowned a little but nodded. "There's a call button beside the door back in your room," he said. "Push it if you need anything. We'll come."

Not comforting, but Taryn nodded. Anything to get him to go away. He turned and walked away, leaving her alone, and she entered the bathroom and locked the door behind her, shaking.

The reflection in the mirror showed her too-pale face beneath lank red hair. Purple circles ringed her wide light-brown eyes. "What the hell, what the _hell_ am I doing here," she breathed, asking her reflection as if it would have any answers. This was surreal, something out of a nightmare. Things like this just didn't happen outside of movies.

She stayed in the bathroom so long, she was certain someone would come and demand to know what she was doing. But no one did. She washed her face, used the toilet, found a toothbrush and comb and tried to repair some of the damage, cupped her hand under the faucet and drank and drank and drank. When she was done, she felt marginally better, her headache helped somewhat by the hydration, but the questions still remained.

Gathering her courage, she finally left the bathroom. A pair of heavily-armed men in black combat fatigues marched past, cradling automatic rifles, and she shrank back against the wall in fear. But they didn't so much as acknowledge her. She darted across the corridor, the damp tiles unpleasantly cold on her bare feet, dove into the room where she'd awakened, and slammed the door behind her. Breathing hard, she leaned her forehead against the flaking, painted metal surface, shaking all over.

"You didn't drink your potion."

She let out a little shriek and spun around. Loki stood beside the cot, frowning, the vial held in one elegant, long-fingered hand. "What?" she gasped.

He held it out. "You didn't drink your potion," he repeated. "Did you not awaken feeling ill?"

His unexpected appearance had sent adrenaline pumping through her body. Her headache screamed back, twice as intense as before, and brought along a wave of dizziness. "Why does everyone want me to drink that crap so badly?" she demanded–or tried to demand. Her voice came out weak and plaintive.

She didn't see Loki move, but in the blink of an eye, he was at her side. One arm went around her waist, steadying her against his body. "Because it will make you feel better," he replied, that smooth, velvet voice soothing her aching head in a way Clint's had not. "This is a valuable healing potion, you know. I'm sacrificing for you. You should appreciate it."

She managed to break her shocked paralysis enough to turn her face away when he raised the uncorked vial toward her face. "No," she said, both hands now planted on his shoulders, pressing away from him, heart beating like a trapped rabbit. This close she couldn't ignore his strength or his scent–like fresh-cut grass or crushed herbs, something green and sharp, and the ionic smell of a blizzard. "I don't want it."

He frowned down at her. "You distrust my motives." It wasn't a question.

"Well, duh."

His frown deepened and she regretted baiting him, but all he said was, "You study the old tales, do you not?"

It took her a moment to switch mental gears and realize he was speaking of mythology. "Yes," she replied slowly, still suspicious.

"And what do the tales tell you of Loki, little mortal?" he pressed. "When his word is given?"

Taryn stared at him for a long moment. "Loki never broke his word," she finally admitted. "Even when it would have spared him from pain or humiliation to do so."

He nodded. "And I give you my word now. This potion will not harm you in any way."

And he thought he was Loki. She watched him, considering, frightened, wishing he would release her and shaking so badly she wasn't sure she could stand unaided if he did so. Should she trust him? Obviously not. But she remembered his anger when he'd lashed out at her computer, the instant rage in his eyes when she'd declared Loki a myth. She didn't want to trigger that again.

After a moment he growled, clearly frustrated. "Your refusal to believe vexes me, woman. Look," he snapped, and released her abruptly. She fell against the door as he suddenly drew an oddly shaped knife from nowhere. Before she could react, he dragged it over his own palm, cutting deep. He flicked his fingers and the knife disappeared. Then he tilted the vial over his bleeding palm, letting a few drops of the green liquid fall onto the gaping wound. With a little sizzle, the slash melted away, leaving intact skin behind.

"There," he snarled, lifting his hand and holding it before her face, forcing her to acknowledge the healing. "Do you believe now?"

Taryn finally nodded. That it had been a real injury wasn't in question–she'd seen the tendons and muscles exposed by that cut, and streaks of blood still marked his palm. If the liquid in the vial was poison, he wouldn't have poured it onto his own cut and risked harming himself. And there was no way she was going to think her way out of this with such a horrific headache. Still, her hand trembled when she took the vial from him and lifted it to her lips.

The potion had very little flavor–it tasted of clear water, perhaps with just the faintest touch of mint. That was a relief because she'd been fearing the worst. It hit her stomach and seemed to spread outward in a soothing, cool wave, erasing pain everywhere it touched. The cessation of her headache and nausea were enough to make her feel weak again. "Thank you," she said, begrudging him the words but remembering that knife and the unflinching way he'd used it. It would be foolish to be rude and risk angering him.

He relaxed a little. It only drew her belated attention to how tense he'd been before. "You are welcome," he replied, inclining his head to her. "I take care of what's mine, Taryn."

"I'm not yours." The words were out before she could stop them. She raised her chin, following the declaration with a show of confidence she didn't truly feel–she felt scared, and lost, and uncomfortably trapped between him and the door, but that would get her absolutely nowhere. Infusing her voice with firmness, she repeated, "I'm _not_ yours."

He smiled easily. "Perhaps not yet," he replied as if her objection was amusing, a little thing of no consequence. "But you will choose me."

She frowned. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

He reached out and cupped her face in his hands–she banged the back of her head against the door trying to jerk away, but there was nowhere to go. "I will show you," he murmured, and ignoring the desperate push of her hands against his chest, he kissed her.


	4. The Fall

His lips were firm and cool, and in no way unpleasant–those impressions were all Taryn had time to note.

Because before she could summon outrage at being kissed against her will, her mind exploded.

_Falling _despair anger betrayal unwanted_ watching his father and brother vanish into the distance as the void collapsed around him, ripping him from Asgard _home not-home_ and casting him into Chaos._

_Stars exploding, coalescing, burning around him, uncaring if they incinerated him as he passed. He fell, and he flew, and he plummeted and tumbled for an eternity. _Hopeless regret rage helpless_ A nebula rose before him, swirling poison green and gold and the black of starless space, and it swallowed him whole._

_And every particle within it was a life. His lives, all of them._

_He screamed as they bludgeoned him with their agonies and ecstasies, a billion billion Ragnaroks and rebirths and every moment of life between them. Every indignity, every betrayal, every mocking comment and cutting word pelted him _pain make it stop enough_ merciless in their cruelty. Every life, every punishment, every secret torment, every public humiliation._

_He saw himself held down by Thor _not-brother tormentor idol_ as twisted dwarves sewed his screaming mouth closed, a fine repayment for the priceless gifts he'd brought to Asgard. _

_He was a fire god, one of the three who created all the worlds–Loki, Odin, and Hoenir_ friend companion _–until Odin banished Hoenir as a hostage of peace, Loki's one friend _loss betrayal mourning_, bringing Ragnarok in pain and anger._

_He watched himself become herself and give birth to monsters, watched her beastly children swallow the sun and moon and devour gods and mortals and tree _satisfaction horror vengeance_ while she battled Heimdall _voyeur jealousy resentment_ and died upon his sword even as she thrust her own through his heart and thought his death a fair trade for her own._

_He watched Odin One-Eye _harsh one unloving one never enough_, not his father now, pledge himself Loki's blood-brother and swear never to sup at a table where he was not also welcome, only to pull away, begin to distrust, to suspect _why frustration disappointment anger_ where no harm had yet been done. He saw himself follow the gods to a feast to which he had not been invited and be turned away at the door by a servant, _rage betrayal humiliation_, the servant's body hitting the ground before him_ violence satisfaction._ Entering the feast and spewing poison in every word, striking to wound as deeply as he'd been wounded, earning the vengeance that ended with him bound beneath the earth with the entrails of his sons, his words answered with their brutality._

_Ragnarok, so many Ragnaroks, blood and death and fire and destruction, the bones of billions of skeletal hands pointing their accusing fingers at him. _No choice never my will_ The great relief of his own death again and again, only to be dragged unwilling back into life, rebirth, forced to play his fatal part again and again._

_He saw Baldur die a million times–Loki tricking Hod into firing a fatal dart, tricking a servant into delivering mistletoe-poisoned mead, tricking Frigga into drinking a potion that terminated him before he ever drew breath, a trick for every star in the sky–his death __always __at Loki's jealous instigation and never by his own hand. Always someone else to take the blame, yet the blame always found Loki in the end._

_Until–_

_A holmgang, Baldur and Loki meeting within–Loki once again she, but now standing tall before all of Asgard _proud unashamed righteous_. Whip and blades coated with powdered mistletoe this time, killing for vengeance, for justice now, no trick delivered by another's hand, no jealousy, no envy. She gutted Baldur, mocking him, glorying in his pain _no more than you deserve_. And all of Asgard watched and did not take Baldur's side. _

_Asgard called Loki Queen and did not mock her._

_Such confusion, to find this life amid all the others, one tiny grain of _acceptance hope_ in the whirling vortex of _pain_ and _humiliation_ and _rage!_ Chasing this one mote, this single life, catching the miniscule speck and diving into it _hunger desperation need to understand_–_

_–a thousand scenes, at first too fast to comprehend, and then slowing to show–_

___–a harmless trick in a book-filled space_ boredom restlessness_ and a woman's unexpected recognition__–_

_–a fireside, the taste of wine, her laughter, and _peace contentment friendship_–_

_–a lecture hall where she taught, _mischief laughter_ asking questions designed to discomfit but without malice–_

_–dancing with her _desire softness_ beside that fireplace again–_

_–kisses in a kitchen _determination real this is real_ and dreading Thor's arrival–_

_–making love to her for the first time _wonder joy disbelief ecstasy_–_

_–in Asgard now, sneaking through his own halls_ laughter heat urgency_ and stealing kisses and caresses like youths–_

_–standing before all of Asgard, Odin One-Eye proclaiming him King beside Thor, equal, _confusion nervousness belonging_ and the entire kingdom cheering–_

_–reclaiming a soul from Hel _grief desperation fury_ who was no longer a monstrous half-dead thing _happiness reconciliation_–_

_–once more standing before the Great Assembly, pledging himself to his lover _surety hope love joy_ and hearing her pledge herself in return–_

_–standing before a brightly lit and oddly decorated evergreen _happiness adoration mischief surprise_ and holding his pregnant wife–_

_A thousand others, too many to process, images and emotion buffeting him, finally leaving him with just one more–sitting on the throne of Asgard, his wife beside him tired but radiant, and a small bundle in his arms_ joy fierce love devotion MINE_, presenting his son to his kingdom as Thor _brother acceptance loyalty trust_ joined the entire kingdom in cheering__ to welcome this child that was no monster._

_In all his lives, in an eternity of birth and death and Ragnarok and suffering, it was the only life of its kind, the only one with _acceptance_ and _joy_ and _love_ and _trust_ and _hope_. What would he do to have a life like this? Terrible, desperate things–anything, everything. Never,_ never_ given a choice, compelled to be only a force of destruction, the harbinger of the end, a bringer of death–but in that incarnation finally knowing how it felt to live. Searching all the other lives, drowning in _despair_ and _agony_ and _rage_ and _betrayal_, searching hungrily for what made this one life so different._

_And finding the face of the woman, his friend and lover and wife and queen, the mother of his perfect beautiful child, and searing it in his mind–the most beautiful face imaginable, the most desirable woman in any world in the cosmos, because she knew him, understood him, and still had chosen him._

Determination_–he would find her. He would recreate that life._

Taryn came back to herself, shaking so hard she would have fallen had Loki not still held her, her own face branded in her mind and all his emotions still a jagged weight on her heart. She couldn't speak–it felt like a massive effort just to breathe.

"Do you understand now?" Loki whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

She couldn't answer. All she could do was cling to him and try not to faint from the shock of such an unexpected and total sensory overload.

Loki kissed the top of her head and scooped her up in his arms. "Rest, Taryn," he murmured, placing her gently down on the cot and tucking the blankets around her. "You are safe here. I will allow nothing to harm you." He stroked her hair back from her forehead and smiled down at her, and she felt the first touch of fear at the look in his eyes. But he said nothing else, just left and closed the door quietly behind him.

Taryn lay there, trying to assimilate the vision he'd given her–and oh, she had no further doubts that he was who he said he was. All the pain he'd experienced, torments of the body and the soul, still echoed through her bones. He'd suffered so much, but it was that look in his eyes that haunted her now. Loki had looked at her like a man looking at his last hope, like she was the one thing that could possibly grant him peace.

And as she remembered all the agonies of his other lives, she tried not to wonder what would become of her if she didn't deliver.

.

**I hope this answers the questions y'all had about how he knew about her! This scene was so vivid in my head and I'm not sure I succeeded in getting it across-hard to fully describe the visceral emotions and images he was pushing into her mind. Let me know if I did okay, please? Mwah!**


	5. Madness

Taryn slept fitfully and dreamed in confused flashes of lives not her own. The vision within Loki's kiss grew and grew, a cancer in her mind, vile and malignant. She fought to awaken as his other lives–the ones where he suffered, the ones without hope–reached for her with greedy fingers and fought against that one, bright speck of a life. She fought to cling to that one but the others were so numerous that she couldn't escape them all. She consciously tried to inject the better memories into the mix, but despite her best efforts, she inexorably plunged down into darkness.

_… standing before Odin's throne, passed over for Thor, the golden son, the perfect, stupid, proud idiot who would lead the Nine Realms to ruin with his hubris…_

_… clutching a crystal rose in a dusty courtyard, the red rays of sunset sparking fire through its facets, making the auburn curl within glow as her own voice rose from within–"I love you, Loki…"_

_… writhing in agony upon those razor-tipped stones, the torment of his body only a bare shadow of the torment of his heart and mind, remembering two perfect, beloved sons running and laughing and chasing each other light-hearted in the sunlight, such hideous betrayal, such helpless, aching rage…_

_… seeing Frigga standing in his doorway, looking at him with love and sadness in her eyes and telling him, "Thor will always be your brother…"_

_… fighting Thor, _hating_ Thor, battles in New York and Puente Antigua and London and Asgard and Jotunnheim and every realm in between…_

_… screaming in the dirt of Svartalfheim, his magic ripped out of him, shriveling, dying, and Thor's desperate face above his, crying, "Tell me how to help you, brother!"–Thor, his brother, his best friend, loyal and trusted…_

_… no family, no friends, no hope or trust or loyalty, only hate, only poison and jealousy and rage…_

_… her own face a thousand times, sleeping and laughing and crying and shining with love, a platinum snake about her throat, awed by the knowledge that she'd chosen him, so much love, consumed by it, drowning willingly…_

_… her face now white and still and bloodstained, eyes dull, body breathing but soul gone, and the rage, the hatred, the driving need to avenge her, knowing that no revenge would ever dull the agony of her loss…_

_… sailing upon a massive boat crewed by the rotting dead, its sails filled by vengeance, its rudder steered by pain, its purpose destruction…_

_… falling through the cosmos, through Chaos, and having it find him unworthy–having it rend his magic from his very being, leaving him helpless at the hands of his enemies…_

_… another fall, but this time Chaos consumed him alive and shrieking…_

_… falling onto Jotunnheim, landing within the destruction he had caused, and oh, the centuries of punishment for that genocide, the living skin peeled from his body, blades piercing his eyes, brought to the edge of death a thousand, a hundred thousand times but never allowed to cross over and find relief at last…_

_… falling into the hands of the Chitauri, despair, isolation, torture as they sought to see how much pain a god could survive before he stopped being a god and became a tool instead, dry hissing voices coldly discussing the next experiment, his hands flayed down to bare bones after a failed attempt to escape, every part of him dissected and desecrated, healing only to have it all start again until _no I won't_ became _please no more I will_…_

_… falling into new torments, a million times falling_, falling, FALLING–

"NO!"

Taryn's scream shattered the nightmares and she bolted upright in bed, heart pounding, shaking like a leaf as adrenaline and horror pounded through her veins until finally she collapsed over the side of the cot and vomited again and again until she feared she'd rupture something internal. When it was finally over she just hung there, half on and half off the bed, gasping, only her fear of falling keeping her clinging to the edge.

Every instant of horror he'd ever felt replayed on an endless loop within her. Good Lord, if that was what was inside Loki's head, it was no wonder that he was insane.

She wondered if going insane would help.

Gazing down at the puddle of sick, the pain within her indistinguishable from impalement or disembowelment or a thousand other tortures, she wondered if she had any choice.

The door flew open before she could decide. "Oh, shit," a man groaned, and a moment later strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her into a sitting position. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Are you sick? Talk to me!"

It was the man from before, Barton. Taryn didn't know how to answer him. Was she sick? Yes indeed–her brain had been infected by whatever mad virus Loki's kiss had inflicted upon her. She giggled at the thought and the sound was more than a little crazy–and _had_ there been a virus? Something magical, something released over a city, something that made people laugh and laugh and laugh? Yes, oh yes–_the image of streets and streets of helplessly laughing people, laughing until they collapsed, until each new burst of laughter was agony, until their hearts burst from the strain and blood sprayed crimson from rictus grins_–it all seared her mind and Taryn's own laughter turned to tears, then to moaning and rocking, cradling her too-full head in her arms.

She couldn't handle this. These weren't her memories, this wasn't her life, she couldn't deal with this! "No more, no more, no more," she moaned over and over, unable to stop. "No more, no more, no more…"

"Fuck me sideways," Barton whispered, and one of his hands left her–she slumped to the side, her body not really obeying her right now, and he quickly braced her before she fell off the bed. _No, not falling, not falling!_ She heard the static hiss of a radio being activated. "Control, this is Barton. Tell the big guy his guest is in serious distress and he needs to get down here _now_."

_… control, yes, touch the heart with the tip of the staff and any human would be his slave to kill or die at his whim. Complete control, complete and utter control, so intoxicating to finally have _control_, and it had only cost the destruction of his own flesh and blood and will to buy it…_

There was an electric charge and the taste of ozone in the air and suddenly Loki's voice was right beside her. "What did you _do_ to her?" he snarled, and Taryn lifted her head to see the enraged god grab Barton with one hand and fling him bodily across the room.

She screamed when he crashed into the wall–_violence, so familiar, comforting as mother's milk_–NO, she fought that, clawing for at least a single moment of clarity. "Nothing, he didn't do anything!" she cried, terrified for Barton, and that made no sense because he was one of her kidnappers, wasn't he? Why should she care one whit if he got the shit kicked out of him? But she did care, and that caring came from _her_, not from the madness poisoning her every thought, so she grabbed hold of it and clung hard. "Don't hurt him!"

To her shock, Loki stopped immediately. Barton got cautiously to his feet, wincing but seeming to be mostly unharmed, although he favored one leg a little. "If you desire his life, it is yours," Loki said, banishing the vomit with a wave of his hand and kneeling beside her cot.

But the offer triggered another surge of flashbacks and Taryn was drowning again.

_… lives are things to be bartered, worthless mortal things, insects, unworthy, insignificant, it hardly matters how many I snuff out…_

_… my life is not mine, it has never been mine, destruction is all I am made for, so I will destroy the universe and laugh as it burns…_

_… blood and fire beneath my feet, stepping on the bones of the dead, trailing destruction in my wake, Yggdrasil itself blazing around me and the cries of billions of dying souls in my ears…_

Taryn shut her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears and screamed, _screamed_ until it drowned out Loki's agony in her mind. She barely felt his hands close around her wrists, only became aware of his touch when he finally managed to wrench them away from her head and instead cradled her skull between his own cool, long-fingered hands.

A wave of ice enveloped her thoughts, freezing them all, and Taryn shuddered with the relief of it. "Make it stop," she whispered, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. "Make it _stop_."

She felt him in her mind then, an alien presence examining every frozen thought. She saw them with him, felt the madness, every life full of anguish, all his suffering now infesting her. His regret passed through her and receded. "I am sorry, Taryn," Loki murmured. "I wished only for you to understand. Your distress was never my intention."

She understood–she truly did. No one who had been through so much agony could ever be sane, and he saw her as the only good thing in any of those lives. But she could never, ever be anything good with all this in her head. Even now, even frozen, those memories had edges sharp enough to flay her alive, and she was terrified of what new horrors would emerge when they thawed again.

_There in the ice, the faces of two perfect little boys, laughing, playing in the sun, greeting Odin's soldiers without fear when they came to take them away…_

The horror that awaited those beautiful children sent bone-deep anguish through her. "Make it stop or kill me," she whispered, "please, Loki."

"You will not die," Loki said, his voice as cold as the wasteland in her mind. "I did not endure the Chitauri to come here and find you only to lose you to Hel's realm."

"Then I will do it myself," she cried, and suddenly laughed. "I'll tell her daddy says hello!" And then the anguish of being hated by his own daughter crashed over her and she wailed with the sudden pain of it.

"Sir." Barton's voice was hesitant, but even though Loki didn't respond to him, he continued. "Sir, I've seen people go mad, and this is what it looks like."

"I am well aware of what madness is," Loki hissed at him.

"You can't leave her like that," Barton persisted. "She needs _help_. At least put her to sleep so she can't hurt herself."

His hands tightened briefly at her temples and Taryn whimpered, unsure if she feared his touch or the loss of it more. As long as the ice remained, she could hear her own thoughts, at least a little bit. Enough to know that Barton's suggestion was worse than nothing. "No," she whispered, trembling harder than ever. "The dreams–no."

Barton stepped forward and persisted, "Sir, I know some people, mutants who could get into her head and–"

_No one else will see these visions!_ Loki's instinctive denial in her head came an instant before he spoke.

"You will do _nothing_ without my order. You are dismissed," Loki snapped, cutting him off, and she heard the other man hesitate only for a moment–_control, his may be slipping, watch him closely_–then leave and shut the door behind him. Then Loki took a slow, deep breath. She felt him impose calm upon himself. "Taryn, open your eyes. Look at me."

She shook her head. In her mind were a million, a billion of his faces caught in the ice, screaming and monstrous and tormented. Everywhere she turned, she looked at him.

His thumbs stroked her cheeks, so gently. "Taryn," he murmured, turning her name into something lovely, urging her softly within her mind, "please, my lady, look at me. Look at me so that I may help you."

Taryn truly, deeply didn't want to open her eyes. Right in this moment, all those agonizing visions were quiet in her head and she feared that the slightest movement, even one so small as a blink, would break the spell. But Loki didn't ask again, didn't pressure her, and finally she gave into the hope of help that he offered.

And when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him, his face was nothing like the ones in her mind–not monstrous, not screaming, not tormented. High sharp cheekbones, strong blade of a nose, thin pale lips, and vivid, inhumanly bright green eyes full of concern–he was beautiful. And what was more, she saw none of the madness she'd expected within those eyes. "Why aren't you insane?" she whispered, the words escaping before she could stop them. "All that pain, all those lives–how are you not insane?"

He stroked her cheeks again. "I live only this life," he replied gently. "I did not intend to give you all the others. I do not carry them with me as you do now–they are like a box I can open or close at will. And that is what I will give to you now, Taryn. You will fill the box with all those lives and close it. Keep the understanding, but lock away the pain. They will become mere stories then, and stories cannot harm you. Can you do that?"

Could she do that? She stared at him, grasping his wrists tight, desperately, and knew she had no choice but to try. "What if it opens again?" The words were barely a breath.

"It will open only if you wish it to. I promise. Are you ready?" he asked, his voice still so gentle, almost hypnotic. _Silvertongue_. She nodded and he smiled at her. "Brave girl," he said, and despite the improbability of it all–her kidnapper, a _god_, kneeling before her and offering to magically alter her very mind–she still felt the warmth of his praise. "Here we go."

The green of his eyes suddenly swirled, capturing her, drawing her into his spell.

And at his direction, the ice within her thawed, but it wasn't the catastrophic avalanche she'd feared. Each memory slid away from the massive glacier of madness like the fall of a snowflake, their jagged edges now soft and harmless. Following Loki's silent prompting, she was able to direct each of them into the vast wooden casket that lay before the dark glacier. One by one, snowflake by snowflake, she sent memory after memory into the box. It slowly filled, containing the horrors, and the glacier shrank and shrank until it dwindled to almost nothing.

The last of it finally melted away, leaving nothing within her but her own thoughts, Loki's quiet, gentle presence, and the snow-filled chest. Taryn stared at it for a moment as misgivings suddenly stabbed at her–_wood could rot, or splinter, or decay_–she concentrated and turned it to stone, then when even that didn't seem enough, to adamantium. _Unbreakable_. Only then did she reach out and carefully, ensuring that nothing within was disturbed, close the lid and seal the winter within.

As soon as she did, exhaustion crashed over her. She gasped as full awareness of her aching body slammed into her. Loki caught her effortlessly and cradled her against his chest as she fought to regain her equilibrium.

"Well done," he murmured, kissing her temple, and even though he also sounded a bit winded, his pride in her was clear. "And surprise surprise, you have a touch of magic as well. Did you know?"

She managed to raise her head–it felt like a Herculean task. But her thoughts were the only ones within it and that sent a huge surge of relief through her. She still felt the presence of the memories in the casket, but as he'd promised, the pain, the demanding agony of them was gone. "What do you mean?"

"You changed the box, made it stronger." He gazed into her eyes, searching, then admitted, "I did not expect you to be able to do that."

She frowned a little, looking at him. "It's in my mind," she said, not understanding. "And it's _my_ mind. I can make it look however I want, can't I?"

Loki smiled. "Indeed you can," he replied, "if you are able to overrule _my_ spell. And there are few indeed who can do that."

Taryn realized two things belatedly–Loki held her as close as a lover as if he had every right to do so, and he looked like hell. She pulled away, mostly to see if she could–he allowed it although his smile dimmed. Relieved that he hadn't forced the issue, she stared at him again, cataloging the changes. As skewed as her perceptions had been before he'd helped her lock his other lives away, she was still pretty damn sure he hadn't been that pale or had those dark rings beneath his eyes before. "What happened to_ you?_" she asked, then could have bitten her tongue.

With the cessation of the visions, she had no trouble remembering that this man–this _god_–was very dangerous and was holding her against her will out of some mad desire to make her fall in love with him and somehow save him from a life of suffering. The last thing she needed was to start acting worried for him. Heaven knew how he might interpret any gesture of concern.

He raised an eyebrow in a sardonic expression, then winced as he rose from his knees on the floor to sit on the cot beside her. "My dear, that was not a mind trick. That was magic, and quite a bit of it, too–more than I should have used, but again, I have sacrificed for you. You may not realize it, but we have been working at this for more than a day. Perhaps you could appreciate me for that."

Taryn gaped at him. A_ day?_ No wonder she felt wrung out, and he looked washed out! She knew nothing at all about magic, but–

–actually, she realized, she _did_ know about magic, quite a lot about magic. From his memories. She shied away from looking at them too closely, wary of landmines, but even the most cursory examination showed that spending a full day locked within a spell was an exhausting task. He wasn't lying when he'd said he'd used a lot of magic to heal her mind.

"And may I point out that you could do with freshening up a bit yourself," he added when she didn't respond, but his tone was teasing, not angry, and she felt herself blush. She imagined just how she looked right now–she'd slept in this suit at least twice, vomited once, had a psychotic break, and then sat hypnotized for more than twenty-four hours. Of the two of them, he likely looked far better right now than she.

Taryn bit her lip, wanting to smile and not quite trusting the urge. Right now she felt like she knew him, but she wasn't ready to trust her impressions. Still, the realization of her physical state wasn't easy to shake off. Finally she made herself say, "A shower and a change of clothes would be welcome. And shoes," she added, because the floors here were icy.

Besides, it would be difficult to make a run for it barefoot, although Taryn was disturbed to realize she was no longer certain she wanted to do so.

But those were thoughts for later, when she had time and privacy.

He nodded, stood, and offered her his hand. "They have already been prepared for you," he replied, helping her up when she hesitantly took his hand. "A meal, as well, and then bed. The changes you made to the box will have drained you just as the rest of it drained me. You will feel better after a sleep."

Taryn shuddered involuntarily. The memory of the swirling nightmares had dimmed, but it still packed a visceral punch. "I… no. No, I don't want to sleep."

Loki looked down at her for a long moment but nodded. "As you wish," he said simply. "Come. This room has seen too much trauma for you. I will take you to a better one."

She nodded–if she never saw this room again, it would be too soon–and followed him out.

.

**Writing the insane parts of this in the middle of the night sorta freaked me out. And was also hella fun! _bwahahahaaaaa..._**


	6. Reprieve

**Hello, hello, I didn't fall off the planet! Sorry it's taken so long for this update. The next shouldn't take anything like that long. Love to everyone who's following, I live for reviews, so enjoy! Mwah!**

.

After a brief and, she feared, mostly unsuccessful attempt to smooth her hair into some sort of order, Taryn followed Loki from the room and back out into that damp, bare hall. "We're underground, aren't we?" she asked, looking at the condensation on the walls and the industrial-style lights hanging from the ceiling.

"Yes," he replied, still holding her hand as he led her in the same direction that the armed guards had gone earlier–it felt like a lifetime ago. "A bunker in Germany which I've appropriated for my little project. Quite secure down here."

Not really what she wanted to hear–after all, she still planned to escape at the first opportunity.

They turned a corner and entered a much larger space–a cavernous room filled with equipment. She stopped despite herself and gaped at the scene before her. Groups of lab-coated men fussed over computers while more black-clad guards stood at the periphery, cradling automatic weapons. At the very center of it all was a small square clean-room constructed of thick, clear plastic panels. Within it, an older man bent over something that glowed with a cold blue light.

"What is all this?" she breathed, dumbstruck. Then, guessing, she added, "What are you making here?" because she couldn't imagine it would be anything good.

To her further surprise, Loki didn't hesitate to answer her. "A doorway to another universe. If you like, I'll show you."

But she hesitated to follow him into the room, once more aware that she was rumpled and quite probably smelled of vomit and sweat from the ordeal of his memories. And speaking of those memories and the universes she'd seen in them, she desperately needed a reprieve before she experienced any further weirdness. "If I ask to have that shower first, will you show me when I'm done? I'm not exactly in a condition to meet people."

"Of course," Loki agreed easily. "Your pardon. Come, we will go to your new suite now."

He led her down another corridor and she couldn't help but ask, "Suite? Doesn't sound very bunker-ish."

Loki laughed–it was a nice sound, she conceded, warm and open. Nothing like the mad laughter she'd heard in her mind, and she realized now that his madness seemed to come and go like the tides. She didn't doubt what she'd seen in his gaze when he'd first arrived in her lecture hall and had caught glimpses of off and on since. How could he be insane at some times and not at others?

Yet another puzzle for later, because he was answering her now. "This was built as a secret military installation. There are barracks for my men, and far better quarters for those of rank. You, my lady, have the highest rank of all. Do not worry. I am certain your quarters will be adequate for now. And you will only be here for a few days at any rate. Soon you will have a palace of your own, if that is what you wish."

She didn't touch that offer. Again she felt the pressure of being the one who would save him from a life of pain and grief–at least in his mind. "As long as it has hot water, soap, and clean clothes, I'll be happy."

And freedom, of course, but she didn't think she'd get that if she asked for it.

Another turn showed a much different corridor. While the walls were still damp with condensation and the bare, flickering bulbs overhead hadn't changed, the floor beneath her cold feet was now tile instead of plain concrete and the walls were painted a cool blue. Loki gestured at the first door they passed and said, "These are my rooms. You may come and go as you like."

Again, she wasn't going to touch that offer, and he stopped at the door across the hall. "These rooms are yours, Taryn. Clothing and toiletries are within. Also, be assured that no one will enter without your leave unless you become ill again. You will have all the privacy you wish."

She was glad he'd said that because she'd been trying to think of a way to tell him that she'd rather he _not_ come and go as he pleased in her rooms, and hadn't been able to come up with anything that didn't sound pretty rude. She tugged her hand free–again, he allowed her retreat, but frowned a little–and opened the door. "Thank you. I'll be fine from here," she said with a smile, not wanting him to follow her inside.

Also, she wanted to know if his promise of privacy extended only to his men or if he would also abide by that.

Loki inclined his head, an old-worldly little bow, and stepped back. "Do you remember how to return to the main room?" She nodded–the halls were mostly straight and there had been only one turn. "Then I will await you there, if you still wish for that tour. Until then," he said, and turned and strode back the way they'd come.

Only once he'd turned the corner did Taryn actually enter the room and turn on the lights. Her eyes widened–no matter that he'd said these were quarters for high-ranking commanders, she hadn't expected _this._

A tall, king-sized bed dominated the room, which was far larger than she'd expected. A dresser flanked it on one side and a carved wood wardrobe took the other wall. The icy floors were covered in plush carpets, soothing her freezing feet. There were even paintings–one of a sunlit forest, one of sunset on a rolling plain, another of the night sky–to stave off claustrophobia at being below ground. A small table–complete with white linen tablecloth–and chair stood to one side. Three silver domed plates of different sizes were flanked by a tall glass of iced water and two glasses of wine, white and red, which she had absolutely no intention of drinking. But by far the best feature of all was the door she'd just closed behind her, whose skillfully-painted wood finish couldn't hide its steel construction, and the pair of heavy deadbolts on it.

Safety, at long last!

She threw both locks–they slammed home with a satisfyingly solid _thunk_–before going to explore the rest of her suite. A door past the foot of the bed opened into a bathroom which wasn't glamorous, but still included a large, deep, claw-foot tub in addition to the sink, stand-alone shower, and commode. A toothbrush, hairbrush, and tube of toothpaste were still in their plastic wrappers beside the sink, and the drawers held a hair dryer and all the little items a woman might need to make herself presentable. A smaller wood cabinet held a thick terry robe and several enormous, plush white towels, far thicker than any she'd ever seen before.

Taryn's father had been an officer in the military but she knew he'd never been assigned quarters like this. "German generals apparently lived the high-life," she mused aloud, shaking her head.

The mirror, however, she quite deliberately avoided. Better not to know just how bad the damage was.

Her mouth tasted vile so she used the toothbrush and paste first–oh, sweet relief–before undressing to shower. Even though she was starving, she felt too grimy and disgusting to eat. Taryn cast a regretful look at the claw-foot tub but didn't quite dare use it. As tired as she was and the way her luck was running lately, she'd fall asleep in there and either drown or need to be rescued, and neither scenario appealed. Instead she took the hottest shower she could stand, lathered her hair twice–the shampoo smelled wonderful, some floral blend she couldn't identify–conditioned, scrubbed her entire body until her skin was pink and tingling and the normality of it all made her finally feel like herself again. Only then did she towel off, wrap her hair in a turban, and slide into one of those fluffy robes to return to the bedroom.

True to Loki's word, she found undergarments in the dresser–also better not to think about how he'd gotten her sizes correct–and pulled out jeans and a thick green sweater from the wardrobe. Several pairs of boots, as well as her missing heels, awaited her at the bottom of the wardrobe and she chose the brown pair because they had the lowest heels. She might occasionally wear stilettos to teach, but that didn't mean she enjoyed torturing her feet.

Besides, she might need to run. She still remembered Barton telling her the way out of the bunker.

The meal beneath the dome was also beyond her expectations. Clearly Loki wasn't constrained by the usual fare offered in military bases. She found a gourmet salad of microgreens with a dressing that was tart, sweet, and too deliciously exotic to identify beneath the smallest dome. The next revealed a thick slice of some decadent chocolate dessert which she devoured shamelessly before investigating the largest dome and discovering filet mignon, salmon, and asparagus with a delicate, lemony sauce. Only when she couldn't hold another bite did she lean back in her chair, sighing with relief.

Only then did she dare to consider whether she should stay locked in here or meet Loki in that big room again.

Much as she wanted to avoid him–she really did need some time to process everything that had happened to her–that comment about a doorway to another universe nagged at her. At least he wasn't making biological weapons or something (a memory of the laughter virus haunted her for a moment), but the only reason he would need a door was to bring something through it.

And she couldn't imagine whatever that was being good for humanity and the Earth in general.

So she told her body that she wasn't really tired, turned her back on the bed and its siren song, and left the suite to find Loki once more.

Finding her way was as easy as she'd anticipated. She hesitated at the entrance to the big room, thought, not immediately seeing Loki. There were so many men in there and most of them were intimidating, body-armor-wearing, machine-gun-toting guards. No way was she going to ask one of them were Loki was. And the fast-paced, almost frenetic activity level was also intimidating.

But only a few seconds into her indecision, the middle-aged man she'd spotted within the clean room suddenly came up behind her. "Hello there!" he said, giving her a wide, open smile when she jumped a mile at his abrupt appearance. "Oh, forgive me. I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," Taryn lied, willing her heart to descend from her throat. Still, if she had to get caught by someone, far better this man than one of the guards. "I'm Dr. Taryn Roswell." She laughed silently at herself for throwing in her title–something she did when nervous–as if it could make any possible difference here.

And in the instant between her words and his reply, she noticed the blue film of light over his eyes and knew from Loki's memories what it signified. This man was under Loki's complete control, his every thought turned to serving the god's will, physically incapable of doing the slightest thing of his own volition. It seemed a fate worse than death to her. Deep inside, was some part of him conscious of his captivity? Was there a voice in there screaming for release? She fought to hide a shudder.

But his smile was still warm and he didn't seem at all distressed by his loss of free will when he answered her. "Yes, I know. We've all heard about you, my dear. Dr. Erik Selvig at your service. And now, please, let me show you around our little project!"

Taryn wasn't sure quite what to make of that _we've all heard about you_ comment. Did they all know Loki had kidnapped her? Were they aware of what he wanted from her? Or had they merely been noticied that she was here as sort of an honored guest? Most importantly, had Barton told them about her brush with madness? She didn't ask. Truth was, she didn't really want to know.

And she had enough to worry about as it was without stressing over what complete strangers thought of her.

"Yes, please. I'd love to know what Loki's planning," she replied instead, and followed him into the hive of activity.


	7. True Happiness

Twenty minutes in Dr. Erik Selvig's company was more than enough for Taryn to reach two conclusions.

One–this man was truly, deeply, terrifyingly brilliant. If he was able to actually do half the things he told her about, he would make Stephen Hawking look like a preschooler.

And two–between Loki and that blue cube, the Tesseract, he had been driven completely and utterly insane.

Selvig spoke of the cube as though it was alive–alive, and sentient. "She has shown me so much," he told Taryn, his blue-filmed eyes glowing with near religious mania. "Things I could only dream of in my wildest imaginings. She can give us so much, you have no idea. Once Lord Loki completes this project, I hope I'll be able to continue working with her. She wants to do so much more. She wants to revolutionize every aspect of life on his planet–on all planets. She has so much to give!"

Taryn nodded in all the right places, smiled and tried to look impressed, all the while wondering just what the hell Selvig was talking about now. "And are you close to completing Loki's project?" she asked, blurting the question when Selvig finally stopped to take a breath.

"Oh, yes! We're very, very close," he answered, smiling as proudly as any new father. "I'm just waiting for one more thing, a material that's very difficult to find. It will stabilize the fluctuations in space and allow the Einstein-Rosen Bridge to remain open indefinitely. Lord Loki will be able to keep the portal open as long as he likes! It's such a breakthrough!" he gushed, grasping her hand earnestly.

"That's–wow, that's great," Taryn replied, smiling and wondering what an Einstein-Rosen Bridge was. Somehow she didn't think it was used to cross a river. She gently retrieved her hand, still smiling interestedly. "How long do you think it'll need to stay open? Do you know how many he's bringing across?" She wasn't sure how many _what,_ but hopefully Selvig would give her some clues if she kept him talking.

Keeping him talking was not hard to do. "Oh, it could take hours, days even," Selvig said, now going serious. "It's quite a large force–well, it would have to be, wouldn't it? The Earth is a big place!"

_Quite a large force_? The words echoed in her head. They didn't sound any better the second time at all. "And the force," Taryn said, trying to keep her alarm from her tone, "what can you tell me about them?"

"Ahh, Dr. Selvig, you're not giving away all my secrets, are you?"

Loki's deep voice interrupted whatever Selvig was about to say and he looked past Taryn with a sudden, radiant smile. "Just giving your lovely lady an overview of what we're accomplishing here!" he said happily. "She's such a good audience and you know how a craftsman loves to talk about his work. I do hope I haven't been boring you, my dear," he added, a slight frown of concern now on his face.

Taryn shook her head immediately. "No, of course not," she lied with a gracious smile. Then she turned to face Loki, smile sharpening. "I've loved hearing all about the _invasion force. _It's really been quite fascinating."

Loki didn't seem a bit put-out by either her discovery or her sarcasm. If anything, his charming smile broadened. "But of course, my lady," he replied smoothly as he caught her hand and lifted it to his lips. "I did promise you would reign at my side, did I not? Surely you didn't expect to rule the Kingdom of the Underground Bunker."

She tried to pull her hand away as she had from Selvig but this time was unable to do so. Her eyes narrowed. "And if I don't want to see the Earth taken over and ruled?"

Loki sighed, but his smile remained. "I am afraid that, although I would hate to displease you, this is not open for debate. The Earth will fall and I shall be there to pick up the shattered pieces and give your fellows what they crave–a master to serve. Look at the good doctor here," he said, gesturing to the smiling man. "Is he not happy in my service? Does he not find all his needs met and his gifts appreciated? In liberating him from free will, he has become more content than he ever could have otherwise."

Looking into the older scientist's happy face, it was a difficult thing to argue. "His happiness is not real," she replied, feeling awkward to be discussing Selvig while he stood right before them, even though it didn't seem to bother him at all. "It's a mind trick."

"But what is reality but a trick of the mind?" Loki countered, his face lit with real pleasure as though he was enjoying her dissent. "You are thinking right now–where does that occur but in the mind? Your disquiet with his servitude, where does that exist but in your mind? Humans speak of the heart, but that is merely an organ to pump blood–there is no consciousness there. There is no soul, no _other _thing which defines each individual. The so-called divine spark, that which experiences everything you call life, _that_ is the mind." He lifted his free hand, gestured to the diligently working people around them. "All these people work and strive for me because I have told them that it makes them happy to do so. Their minds experience pleasure in pleasing me. In no part of their psyche exist dismay, anxiety, worry, fear. They serve me and I care for them, and they are content. How is this not real?"

His logic was insidious. Taryn couldn't argue that every man and woman she saw certainly seemed happy in their work. Selvig definitely was. She understood Loki's point exactly and it was a difficult one to argue. If a person believed, truly, deeply _believed_ down to the depths of their being that they were happy, how could someone else tell them they weren't? Who was she to say that this was wrong? She struggled to articulate her gut-deep certainty that it just _was._ "Why haven't you made me into a happy zombie, then?" she asked, looking away from the busy workers and watching his eyes carefully.

Loki's frown lasted less than the space of a blink before his confident smile was back. If she hadn't been watching so closely, she would've missed it. "You are not like them," Loki said, kissing her hand again–a lingering kiss to her palm this time, far more intimate than just a brush of lips over her knuckles, and she couldn't suppress a shiver.

"How am I different?" Taryn said, once again trying to free her hand and once again failing. He seemed amused by her discomfort and kissed her palm again, this time flicking his tongue lightly against her skin, and she tried desperately to ignore the leap of her heartbeat in response. She pressed on, determined to make this point. "I am as human as they are. My mind is just as fragile. Why bother with the whole seduction routine when you can simply tap me with your scepter and convince me that I'm madly in love with you in a second?"

Loki's green eyes narrowed, suddenly sharp and cold as emeralds. "Selvig, go," he said, and Taryn heard him walk away without question, but she didn't quite dare look away from Loki. His fingers tightened around hers. "I do not need to hypnotize you to make you love me," he said softly, his voice very gentle, very controlled, but his eyes glittered with something that might have been anger or might have been something else.

"What's the difference?" she asked, pressing, wondering if that _something_ was the same disquiet she felt when she thought of the mindless slaves he planned to create. "As you said, the heart is just a pump, and there is no soul except a spark in the mind. If you use magic to convince me that I'm in love with you, how is it not real?"

He stepped forward, crowding her, and Taryn backed up instinctively, stepping between two columns into an alcove. Two more steps and her back was to the wall, cutting off further retreat. His fingers were still locked tight around hers, not quite painful, but definitely inescapable. "Do you wish for me to command you?" Loki whispered, too close, his broad shoulders cutting off her view of the room, narrowing her world to his sharp, beautiful eyes and the anger on his face–yes, it truly was anger now. "Are you asking me to make you like them?"

"I want to know why that's not enough for you," Taryn replied with far more calm than she felt. She knew from the memories they'd shared that he didn't want to have her that way, but this was still a huge gamble. She might end up a mindless slave if she failed to make her point.

"Because you chose me _then_," Loki hissed, his free hand slamming into the wall beside her head, and now the madness was back in his eyes–oh yes, it was definitely back, and Taryn had been afraid since the instant he'd walked into her classroom but now he was close, too close, his body barely a breath from hers, trapping her against the cold brick wall at her back. "You knew me, understood me, loved me, _chose_ me, and I will not accept less now!"

Then suddenly his mouth was on hers, stealing her gasp of surprise and replacing her breath with his own, and Taryn knew she'd made a mistake in provoking him. And oh, God, she'd never been kissed like this–like nothing existed for him but her, like he needed her more than oxygen, like he wanted to climb into the soul he claimed didn't exist and live there forever, and she had no defenses against it, but of course she didn't, she was exactly what she'd told him–just a regular woman.

Loki was a god, the Seducer of Asgard, and Taryn was in way, way over her head.


	8. Perchance To Dream

Taryn sat at the little table, her back to the bed, blankets wrapped tight around her and every light in the room blazing. Exhaustion be damned, she was _not_ going back to bed tonight. She'd thought she could put aside the remembered horrors of Loki's memories and her own flirtation with madness and just sleep.

She'd been very, very wrong.

The first time she'd started to doze, the sneering, monstrous face of the Chitauri chief torturer lunged out of her memories like the beast he was. Bolting upright with a barely muffled scream, it had taken long minutes for her heart to return to something like a normal rhythm. Telling herself that the memories weren't hers didn't help. Reminding herself that the torturer didn't even know she existed didn't help, either. Her body ached with remembered pain and her hands, oh, the hands that her mind insisted had been flayed and shredded now throbbed and burned. She had to keep staring at them to convince herself that they hadn't really been reduced to bloody, tattered bones.

After an hour, she'd convinced herself to try sleep again. This time she concentrated on her favorite painting above her desk at home–a lovely, sunlit meadow filled with a riot of Central Texas wildflowers. A little pond graced the corner of the small meadow. Clouds like a magnificent castle in the air reflected in its perfectly glassy surface. She could look at that painting for hours.

But just as she began to doze off, another memory arose–lying bound to a rough and icy slab, ropes so tight around her ankles and wrists that she'd lost all feeling in her hands and feet-knowing that was a blessing-praying to lose feeling in her abdomen too as the Chitauri sliced and dug and pulled at bits of her never meant to see the light of day–

This time she wasn't able to stifle the scream. Hands flying to her stomach, Taryn sobbed with relief to find herself whole.

That was when she'd abandoned the bed, turned on every light in the room, and gone to sit at the table. Without coffee or books or any way to distract herself, she began softly reciting the legends of Celtic deities, starting with her favorite, the goddess Bride. It passed the time. She wasn't sure how long she sat motionless in the straight-backed chair–that didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was staying awake and keeping the nightmares at bay.

But even there, exhaustion had started to overtake her and her head had drooped. But this time, instead of horrific remembrances of torture, Loki's kiss arose in her memory to haunt her.

That kiss… she'd never experienced anything like it. Desperate, hungry, overwhelming–he kissed like she was as necessary to his existence as food or air. She'd been utterly blown away, unable to do more than cling to him, fists tight in the material of his jacket, unable even to remember to push him away.

But then his lips had gentled. No longer demanding, now Loki seduced. His hands cupped her face so gently as he caressed her mouth with his, tongue dancing, teasing, savoring. Taryn had realized she was kissing him back a split second before he'd pulled away and looked down at her with something very like wonder, or perhaps worship.

"The visions were true," Loki had breathed, one hand now in her hair, cradling her head in his palm, fingers restlessly caressing her scalp. "You still the chaos…" And then he'd kissed her again, deeply, thoroughly, and she'd been so swept away by the unexpectedness of it all that she hadn't even been able to work up any embarrassment at the little gasps and whimpers he drew from her.

She dragged herself back to wakefulness with a hard shake of her head. Those kisses, _allowing _him to kiss her like that, had been a mistake of colossal proportions. He was her _captor,_ not her boyfriend! At least she'd finally gathered enough of her wits to push him away, but it had taken far too long to do so. And he'd smiled at her with such satisfaction when she had as if he knew full well the battle it had been. Taryn _had _to get her mind back in order before she did something else monumentally stupid.

When the knock came at her door–soft, almost tentative–Taryn nearly jumped out of her skin. She instinctively looked at her wrist, forgetting that her watch was long gone. What time was it? Was it morning? No, surely not–she hadn't been awake for hours. She'd only gotten through a quarter of the Celtic pantheon.

In the end, though, did it matter what time it was? She didn't want to sleep and she had no illusions that talking to herself would stave off the Sandman. Dr. Selvig had mentioned coming to see her and comparing notes on Norse mythology, especially the Rainbow Bridge. Perhaps he was here now. Normally she wouldn't even consider letting a man she barely knew into her bedroom in the middle of the night, but Selvig had that blue-light haze over his eyes that meant Loki controlled him utterly. He wouldn't hurt her. She stood and crossed stiffly to the door.

But it wasn't the older man who waited on the other side. It was Loki.

Taryn stared at him for a moment, taken aback. He smiled at her but it wasn't his usual confident expression, and his face was pale with dark circles beneath his eyes. "My apologies for waking you," he said, the smile fading. "May I… may I trouble you for a moment?"

She hesitated only a moment before nodding. After all, she already had evidence that he could come and go as he pleased from anywhere at all–she wouldn't soon forget his instant arrival when she'd been ill–and from what she'd seen in his mind, he wouldn't hurt her, either. And she certainly wasn't going to fall asleep with him here! "What can I do for you?" she asked when he was inside and the door closed behind him.

He looked at her for a moment, then turned toward the nearest painting without answering. He leaned closer as if examining it and Taryn suddenly realized he was actually nervous. It was a word she would never have applied to the god before this moment. "Loki?" she prompted, her own voice now hesitant. Worry for him filled her, but she still didn't quite trust its source. She'd read about Stockholm Syndrome, after all, and all the memories he'd injected into her mind hadn't left her anything like clearheaded when it came to him–not to mention those kisses that had short-circuited her brain just as effectively as the scepter. Even so, she couldn't help adding, "Are you all right?"

He touched the painting's frame, tracing a swirl of the gilded wood with one elegant finger. "Yes, I… I am… No, actually. I…" He abruptly clenched his fist with a growl of frustration. "I am tired, Taryn. Merely tired."

"You should sleep," she replied, frowning a little because he didn't look _merely tired_. He looked the kind of exhausted that made people collapse and spend weeks in the hospital… but of course, he wasn't _people_. The normal rules might not apply to him. Still, the strain and fatigue etched on his face couldn't be good, even for a god.

And it looked eerily similar to what she'd seen in the mirror last time she'd looked.

"Sleep," he whispered on a little huff of a laugh. The painting reclaimed his attention and he stared hard at it as though vital secrets were concealed within its brushstrokes. "I want… I would very much like to sleep," he murmured after a moment. "But I… it is not so simple."

Her frown deepened when his voice trailed off again. She had never heard him sound so unsure, not in any of their previous interactions, nor in any of the memories he'd shown her–and speaking of memories, she was pretty sure she knew exactly what happened when he tried to sleep. "When was the last time you slept?" she asked softly, but she didn't step closer to him.

Loki reached out to the painting again, this time meticulously following the arch of a tree branch. When he reached the trunk, he traced the next branch, and the next after that, one fingertip just skimming over each line of the tree. "Before the Chitauri," he answered just when she had decided he wasn't going to. "Before the fall. Before Thor returned, before Laufey's death. Before… before the madness." He moved on to the next tree and she saw that his hand was shaking. "It returns to me when I close my eyes. There have been times of unconsciousness, but true rest has eluded me."

Taryn shook off a sudden flash of the Chitauri chief torturer's face. Oh yes, she knew exactly what he meant, and she took a step toward him without intending to. He turned to face her before she could take it back or school her features away from aching understanding. He also took a step, halving the distance between them. Now he was close, uncomfortably so, but his gaze caught her and the need in it froze her in place. "What I told you earlier was the truth," he said, and although his hand twitched as if he would reach out to her, he didn't. "You calm the madness, quiet the chaos. I came… I came to ask…" He took a deep breath, then went on, "I came to ask if you would allow me to stay, just for one night."

Taryn gasped. Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been that. She shook her head and started to step back. "Loki–"

But now Loki did reach out, clasping her hands as if to forestall her refusal. "Not your body," he interrupted, speaking quickly now. "I know it is too soon for that and I meant what I said when I told you it is your choice I want. Only let me share your bed tonight, Taryn–I give you my word, that is all I ask of you. Merely let me lie beside you and sleep. I want… I _need_ you, the peace you bring. Chase away the shadows for one night." He stopped, swallowed hard, and finally, not quite meeting her eyes, he whispered, _"Please."_

And she was willing to bet that wasn't a word Loki said often. That, and his clear need, were enough to crack through her defenses. "All right," she whispered, wondering if she was insane to allow him to talk her into this but still unable to turn him away when he was so clearly suffering.

Loki's smile shone bright as the sun and she realized that he'd fully expected her to say no–had expected it, and still his need had driven him to ask. "Thank you," he murmured, lifting her hand and brushing a feather-light kiss into her palm. She nodded, unable to reply past the lump in her throat.

A green shimmer washed over him and left him clothed only in soft linen pants, the leather and metal armor vanishing to nowhere. For a moment her gaze got caught on his bare chest and arms and refused to move away. Tall and slender as he was, she hadn't expected him to be muscular, but his body bore the evidence of centuries spent training for and fighting battles. Each muscle was defined, not overlarge, but tight and strong. No hair marred his chest or his washboard stomach. His arms rippled with the slightest movement. Taryn swallowed hard.

"Should you wish to share more than just your bed," Loki murmured after a long moment, voice low and dark and saturated with promise, "merely keep looking at me like that, Taryn. You look at me as though you would eat me alive."

Another memory rose from that single good life, this one starkly erotic–_kisses in the shadows, hands everywhere, stealing caresses, arriving in opulent chambers that neither of them cared about in the least, and Loki saying in a voice hoarse with need, "You look at me as though you would eat me alive."_

_And feeling his thrill, his awe and near desperate desire when the Taryn in his memories gave him a wickedly sensual smile and murmured, "What a good idea," and went to her knees before him…_

Taryn didn't realize she'd whispered those words aloud until Loki's green eyes flared with need and his breath caught. She felt her cheeks go fiery red and quickly turned away. "Sleep," she blurted, ignoring his soft chuckle and retreating to the bathroom, mortified that she'd been all but drooling over his bare skin. "That's all. Sleep."

"As you wish," he sighed, and then she shut the door behind her and pressed a hand to her chest as if that could still her pounding heart.

Not likely. She'd just agreed to spend the entire night lying in bed beside her kidnapper, an actual god, not to mention a man who kissed her like she was the only thing on the planet that mattered and who incidentally had the most perfect, lickable body she'd ever seen. A body that would be mere inches from hers, all night long, and she had to be insane.

And memories like the one she'd just discovered didn't help in the least. If that other life was any indication, she and Loki would be volcanically, explosively compatible in bed–and those kisses had left no doubt in her mind that the other life wasn't mistaken. _Not going to think about it!_ she ordered herself, face going even redder.

But it was like telling someone not to think of a purple elephant. The more she tried to distract herself, the more that his memory–_God, he'd lost control, had fallen to the floor in his desperation to get inside her, and _oh_ her mouth open and hot and incredible beneath his, her body so soft and welcoming, her hands in his hair and her thighs strong around his waist–_tormented her with visions of the bliss that could await if she dared to give him more than a temporary haven from nightmares in her bed.

Forcing the vision away, Taryn used the bathroom, brushed her teeth again, and changed into a more substantial set of pajamas–a thick flannel top and pants instead of the short satin gown she'd worn before, as if that would be any kind of barrier to a man who could banish clothing with a thought. But she couldn't hide out in here all night. She closed her eyes for a moment and then forced herself to open the door and face him once more.

Loki stood just where she'd left him, looking every bit as delectable as before. She bit her lip but made her feet move and walked to the bed. "I hope you don't snore," she said just to fill the silence. There was something incredibly intimate about getting into bed with him, more so than if he'd already been lying there and she'd just joined him, although she couldn't say why.

He smiled and drew the blankets aside. "I would never," he said, gesturing for her to precede him into bed.

Taryn hesitated only a moment before sliding between the sheets. The lights went out as the bed dipped behind her with his weight and she knew he'd used magic to extinguish them. The heavy blanket settled over her–the God of Mischief and Evil tucking her in, she thought with a hysterical mental giggle–and she felt his movements as he made himself comfortable, but she couldn't do the same. She was wound tight as a bowstring.

"May I hold you?" Loki murmured after a moment, making her jump. When she didn't answer at once, he said, "The closer I am to you, the more it helps."

Playing on her sympathy, or telling the truth? There was no way to know. _God of lies!_ she reminded herself, but her muscles were already beginning to ache with tension and she just didn't have the energy to fight anymore tonight. "If you want," she whispered, and an instant later, his arms went around her and drew her to his side. She didn't resist and soon found herself tucked securely into the shelter of his body, her back to his chest, his arms snug around her, his breath tickling her ear, and she heard his contented sigh.

"Thank you," he whispered, and she shivered at the brush of his lips over her sensitive ear. Then, as if noticing the effect that had on her, Loki did it again–lips purposefully caressing her ear as he asked, "Goodnight kiss?"

Damn him for bringing those kisses up again! But she wasn't quite that insane yet. The thought of lying here in the dark with him, wrapped in his arms with that wickedly talented mouth on hers kissing the brain right out of her head–oh, she had to banish that idea _right now._ "Don't push your luck," she said, and wished she'd sounded more tart and less breathless when he laughed softly.

"Darling, I _always _push my luck."

But he said nothing more, and when his breathing evened out, slow and deep, Taryn's own body began to relax. Much as she hated to admit it, being held in Loki's arms was deeply comforting. To her surprise she also dozed off almost immediately, and didn't dream at all.

.

**Who recognizes the scene in the painting? ^_^**


	9. Wanting

**Oh, I had fun writing this! Definitely a chapter that ended up better than I had hoped. Here's hoping y'all like it, too-and thanks to all of you who reviewed! MWAH!**

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Loki awoke in a soft but unfamiliar bed with his arms full of warm, alluring, sweetly-scented woman.

It was certainly one of the most pleasant awakenings he'd experienced in longer than he'd care to recall.

The events of last night arose in his mind and Loki couldn't help but smile. He'd come to Taryn exhausted and aching and needing the rest that his fractured mind would no longer allow him. It had been a desperation play, he would willingly admit that. She had given him no sign that she would welcome him into her room at all, much less allow him into her bed. But after those kisses beside Selvig's lab…

Oh, those kisses! He'd kissed her twice before–both times for magic, once to plunge her into sleep and once to share memories–but neither of those kisses had been like _this_. With no spells to cast, Loki had been able to give all his attention to her mouth, and for long, glorious minutes the madness driving him had been drowned out by a sweet overload of pure sensation.

While her lips and tongue slid so sensually against his, his body had known something other than pain and wretchedness. While her little whimpers and gasps of surprise and pleasure filled his ears, he hadn't been able to hear echoes of the screams the Chitauri had torn from him. While her scent, clean and light and delicious, filled his nose, he hadn't smelled the cesspits of hell where he'd been held prisoner for too long. And while her taste saturated his mouth in shades of mint and chocolate and desire, he forgot the flavor of his own blood and shattered teeth.

His visions of that other life had promised that heaven awaited in this woman's arms, but knowing it and _experiencing _it were very different things. Loki had bedded a thousand maidens–his reputation as the Seducer of Asgard was a well-earned revenge, after all–but never had _he _been the one swept away. Never had he been the one overtaken by his body's demands. No, he had always played his lovers like a symphony, directing each kiss, choreographing every caress until they were lost to his sensual music, but Taryn's kisses… oh, those kisses had pushed him to the very edge of his control.

And Loki, who prized control over everything else, wanted to experience that again. Wanted to feel his control strain, crack, and finally shatter, wanted to lose himself in taste and touch and scent and sound, wanted to immerse himself in heat and desire.

Loki _wanted._

So when Taryn stirred a little in his arms and her hair fell away from her neck, Loki didn't even try to resist the urge to bend and kiss a path across that smooth, exposed skin. _Mmm, _he hadn't tasted her skin before, and he wasn't surprised to find her flavor ambrosial on his tongue. She shivered in his arms and he smiled against her throat, pressing another open-mouthed kiss beneath her ear before drawing her earlobe into his mouth.

Taryn made an impossibly sexy sound in the back of her throat, a sleepy, throaty little purr that bypassed Loki's ears and hit him straight in the groin. He growled and suckled a little harder, needing to provoke her to make that sound again–when she did, it drove the air from his lungs. What _was_ it about this woman that she was able to affect him so profoundly with such a little thing? It was a mystery he couldn't wait to decipher.

But right now she was still asleep and he wanted her mouth, more kisses, her taste on his tongue and her breath in his lungs. Loki nibbled his way along the delicate shell of her ear in hope that the sharpness of his teeth would awaken her. She shuddered, back arching in unconscious invitation, and the soft swell of her ass suddenly pressed against his aching erection. He swore shakily, hardly aware what language he spoke, much less what word fell from his lips, and he caught her hip in his hand and couldn't help but rock against her.

He swore again, a deep groaning plea torn from him at the surge of almost shocking pleasure the movement caused. Sweet Yggdrasil, had _anything_ ever felt so good?

Loki stilled–to continue that would have him mindless far too soon–but now that his hand had moved once, it wanted to continue to do so. His palm ghosted over her waist, down her thigh, beginning to learn her dips and curves, and he breathed in her ear, "Wake up, my lady. Wake up and kiss me," in a voice that trembled.

The sudden stiffening of her spine told him that she had finally awakened–awakened and realized who was in bed with her, and exactly what she'd been doing in her sleep. He didn't allow her time for second thoughts, or first thoughts either, if it came to that. Shifting with lightning speed, Loki trapped her beneath him with one leg across her thighs and her hands caught in his, fingers interlaced, arms stretched above her head and pinned.

And pausing only to steal one glance for his memory–her hair a tousled crimson cloud around her face, color high in her cheeks, whiskey-dark eyes wide with arousal–Loki captured her mouth and claimed the kiss he'd been aching, _aching_ for.

Her cry of surprise died against his lips. Loki groaned again as he exploited that opening to slide his tongue deep. She gasped at the invasion and her body quivered beneath him in a way that made him feel powerful and exhilarated and so desperate he thought he might explode all at once. He kissed her again and again, getting lost in it, in the way her resistance at first wavered and then melted, at the way her tongue slowly stopped fighting and began dancing instead. More kisses, still more, and he was so hard it was painful but even that was exquisitely pleasurable.

Some endless time later Taryn abruptly broke the kiss and turned her face aside, denying him that delicious, addictive mouth, but Loki merely transferred his attention to her throat again. Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips in a fast pace to match his own. "Loki–wait," she gasped, breathless, and he decided he liked her voice like that. Oh yes, he liked that very much, and liked the knowledge that he'd brought her to that breathlessness most of all.

"Mmm," he replied, not waiting at all. Her skin, soft and sweet and just a hint of salt; he needed to lavish his attention on every inch of it. He nipped the corner of her jaw, soothed it with his tongue, smiled with almost savage satisfaction at the little moan that brought from her. Did it again.

"Wait," she said, more firmly this time, and Loki sighed in resignation. It was so unfair–he was burning alive with a passion he'd never before experienced, and she wanted to talk.

But because she could do this to him, could reduce him to nothing more than a shivering, burning _ache_, he would humor her. "What could possibly be worth talking about now?" he asked, his own voice hoarse and needy in a way he'd never heard. No longer kissing but nuzzling his way along her throat, feeling her shiver, he murmured, "I can think of oh, so many more pleasurable things to do with my mouth." He bit the juncture of neck and shoulder, thrilled at the cry she couldn't quite stifle. "You'll like them all," he promised against her skin.

She swallowed hard–he felt it. "You said–you said you just wanted to sleep," she blurted, still breathless in that way he was coming to adore.

"Mmm," he agreed, reaching her collarbone and flicking his tongue over it. "So I did." Another bite, then his tongue dipped into the little hollow at the base of her throat.

"Loki!" she gasped, and _oh,_ that did dangerous things to his pulse, hearing his name on her lips like that. "You gave your word!"

Reluctantly–very, very reluctantly–Loki abandoned her neck and raised his head to look down at her. And a very pretty sight she made, too, with her lips puffy from his kisses and her cheeks pink and her pupils blown, so distracting that he had to concentrate to form words. "I gave my word that all I wanted was to sleep beside you last night," he said, wondering if his own mouth was as red as hers or if his eyes betrayed the same desire, and if so, did she find it as alluring as he did? "But last night is over, and this morning… this morning, my beautiful, delicious Taryn, this morning I want more."

She frowned a little. "It was a trick?"

"No," Loki answered at once. "Last night was real. But so is this." And she wanted to talk, did she? Well, he could do that. He smiled, knowing it wasn't at all a reassuring sight, and prepared to put his silver tongue to good use–not the one he'd prefer, but one at which he still excelled. "Perhaps last night I was not specific enough. I can be specific now so there are no misunderstandings," he said, voice low and dark, almost hypnotic, and he took her lack of refusal for permission to go on.

Bending closer, almost but not quite brushing her lips with his, Loki murmured, "I want to touch you, kiss you, tease you. I want to find every place that makes you gasp or moan, first with my fingers, then with my tongue. I want to bring you to the edge again and again, feel you come undone beneath me, give you more pleasure than you've ever imagined." Her eyes, already dark, had widened to the point he thought he could fall in and drown. She was already shivering beneath him and Loki licked his lips, watched her watch the movement, wanted so damn bad it hurt.

"I want your hands on me," he whispered, and now his lips did caress hers with every word. "I want your mouth on my skin. I want you to make me beg, Taryn, and I will beg. I will beg for you."

Her breath came in short gasps now. Arousal rose from her body like heat from a fire and everything in Loki yearned to answer its invitation. "I _want,_ Taryn," he breathed against her mouth, "and only you can give me what I want."

He kissed her again, stopping any reply she might have made, hoping to stave off further conversation–for once, the Wordsmith had no use for words. For a moment he thought he might actually be able to derail her protests because she kissed him back with a passion that made his entire body shudder.

But it was not to be. Taryn tore her mouth from his too soon and pulled her hands from his grasp–he allowed it or she never could have broken his grip–breathing hard but with her jaw set in determined lines. "No," she said, pushing at his shoulders. "Stop. Please, I want you to stop."

Everything in her body cried out to him that she didn't want him to stop. Even her hands trembled despite pushing him away, but Loki had never resorted to force in the bedroom, not once in his long, long life, and he would not start now. Especially not with Taryn, the woman who would understand, the one who would choose him. He rolled onto his back, releasing her. "Damn," he sighed as his body cursed him.

Taryn was out of the bed in a flash, snatching up her robe and pulling it on as if that would offer any sort of protection from him if he did decide to have her despite her protests. Loki looked at her, smiling sardonically at that thought, but then he noticed that beneath the desire on her face lay something almost like terror. "You have nothing to fear from me," he said, the realization wiping the smile from his face and cooling his desire. "I would hardly expect to gain your love by rape, Taryn."

She clutched the robe tight but raised her chin proudly. "You won't get it by trickery, either," she shot back, and he mourned the loss of breathlessness in her voice.

Loki swung his legs out of bed and stood, rising to his full height and savoring the renewed strength of his body. Truly she was good for him if one night in her arms had restored him this much. "Then tell me how to earn it," he murmured, walking slowly toward her, giving her ample time to move away–she didn't, not even when he stopped less than a foot away from her and cupped her cheek in one gentle hand. "Tell me what you want, Taryn, and it will be yours."

She stared wide-eyed up at him, seeming almost hypnotized. "It doesn't work like that," she whispered. "You can't bribe me into loving you back."

And at those words, the last of the spell broke. Loki sighed as he caught her hand and raised it to his lips. "You misunderstand me. I don't love you, darling," he breathed against her skin, and she jerked with shock at his softly spoken words. "And I never will."

And with one final brush of his lips over hers, Loki took a step back and vanished in a flash of green light.


	10. Love Is

Taryn's knees gave out as Loki vanished and she landed on the floor before the smoke had even cleared. "Oh God, I am in trouble," she whispered as she listened to her heart thumping and tried to catch her breath.

That was just–waking up like that just wasn't–it wasn't _fair._ How the hell was she supposed to resist him when he did things like that? It was cheating, using those memories from that other life so that he knew, _knew_ exactly where to touch and how to kiss her to make her body turn traitor. And that voice, _damnfuckinghell,_ that voice should be illegal, deep and rich like some forbidden dark spice, purring along her nerves as his lips traced the curves and dips of her ear. No, that absolutely was not fair.

Especially given the things he _said_ in that smooth-as-silk voice. _I want you to make me beg, and I will beg, I will beg for you…_ she shivered from head to toe just at the memory.

Not. Bloody. Fair.

She'd just had the full, focused, and very erotic attention of the Seducer of Asgard. Taryn was shocked that her skin wasn't smoldering from the experience.

It terrified her that he could so easily command such an overwhelming response from her. Damn it all, she knew better than this! He was a criminal, he was insane, he was a ridiculously powerful god who planned to take over her world and run it like a callous child would run an ant farm. And like that child, Loki seemed likely to bring out the magnifying glass and fry a few ants if he got bored.

There was no way she could do what he wanted, stand beside him and be his queen. She was an American–she believed in freedom, in choice. She didn't believe in mind-control and slavery and subjugation.

But her body, oh, it didn't give a good goddamn about any of that. Her body was an instrument that Loki had played like a maestro. All her body wanted was to sing in his arms again.

And having his memories, even with their raw emotion blunted, didn't help at all. Feeling that other Loki's emotions for her, the depth of his love and devotion, was overwhelming despite the containment spell. That Loki had truly loved his Taryn. He'd all but worshiped her. And his joy and wonder at having his love returned didn't fade over the centuries they spent together. No, he'd lived for her, and for their child, and counted himself the most blessed creature to ever live for knowing such happiness. If this Loki was anything like the one in her memories, Taryn would do just as her other self had done–leave everything behind just to be with him.

But this Loki was different. He was hard, and bitter, and although she'd witnessed a moment of weakness (if indeed it had been genuine–he was such a talented liar that she couldn't help but wonder), Taryn had yet to see an instant of softness about him. His abuse had been worse in this life and the scars left by it deeper and more crippling. When this Loki had fallen into Chaos, he hadn't had the anchor of love and untarnished friendship to hold onto that the other Loki had. And without that anchor to give him the strength to master it, Chaos had ensnared him, tormented him, and finally spat him broken to the Chitauri.

Taryn ran shaking hands over her face. He wanted her to save him, to bring him happiness and love, but she couldn't imagine any part of this Loki that could see love as anything but weakness. He didn't want her love, not truly, no matter what he thought–he wanted her subservience. He wanted her obedience, and her physical affection and sex, but he would not welcome the open, unjudging sharing that came with genuine love between equals. To this Loki, Taryn–mortal, weaker, less brutally intelligent–could never be his equal.

So she wasn't surprised when he'd declared that he didn't love her, not really. This Loki had never experienced love. He would have no idea how to give it, or even recognize it if he did feel it. His first experience with sex had been horrible, and instead of finding the comfort of family afterward, he'd been mocked viciously. The Seducer of Asgard, they'd called him through their laughter and jeers, and he'd held his head high and turned that mocking title into a blade as one by one, he seduced the wives of each and every one of his tormentors. He tore families apart and laughed as his conquests mourned in the aftermath of their infidelity. After a start like that, was it any wonder that he viewed seduction and sex as a weapon, and love as a weakness?

But Taryn couldn't live that way. She'd loved and been loved, and she wouldn't settle for anything less even from a god. He would never give that to her. No, this Loki… he would demand everything she had to give, and he would give nothing back.

Maybe he wouldn't intend it, but this Loki would destroy her.

Taryn finally managed to get back to her feet and crossed to the wardrobe to blindly grab for clothing. She ducked into the bathroom, still trembling–she wanted a shower, but even the few moments it took to discard her pajamas and pull on her clothing left her feeling exposed and watched. Trying to ignore it didn't help, nor did repeating to herself that Loki had promised she would have her privacy, so she got dressed again as quickly as she could just in case that had been another of his carefully worded promises that meant less than she'd first thought.

When she emerged from the bathroom, another trio of silver domes awaited on her table. She stared at them for a moment–she'd been listening hard and hadn't heard anyone come in. Had Loki done his little "poof" trick to bring her breakfast? She didn't like that someone had entered without her knowledge, but she _did_ want breakfast. In the end she decided just to eat and decide later whether or not to complain to Loki about it.

She hadn't even made it halfway through the omelet when Loki reappeared before her in another little flash of green light. Taryn gasped, nearly choked, and spluttered, "What the hell are you _doing_ here?" in as furious a tone as she could manage while coughing this hard.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Did you not invite me in?"

Taryn took a gulp of orange juice–the acidic juice did little to soothe her burning throat and sent her into another coughing spasm. "Once!" she snapped when she could speak again, rubbing her chest to ease the tightness. "It wasn't a standing invitation!"

"Ah." He shrugged, unconcerned. "You weren't specific. I assumed."

Of course. Of course the Liesmith, master of carefully worded promises and lies, could twist her one moment of pity into permission to come and go as he pleased. Taryn closed her eyes, now rubbing her forehead instead where a nasty headache was forming. "Of course you did," she sighed, giving up. She was a captive, after all. She had only whatever rights he gave her. Clearly privacy wasn't one of them. "What do you want?"

"I will be leaving you for a short time."

That got her attention. Taryn's head jerked up and she belatedly realized that he was in some kind of elaborate armor: gold-plated and richly embossed breastplate, greaves, gauntlets and pauldrons–even a long sweeping emerald cape and a helmet with massive curling horns. Both should have looked ridiculous but his brutal aura turned them into intimidating status symbols. "Leaving?" she echoed.

Loki smiled and nodded. "Selvig's little project is complete. It is time for the next phase of my plan to begin. I must be captured briefly, but do not fret. They have no real way of holding me. I will escape when the time is right."

Taryn didn't care much about his plan, but the thought that he might be captured definitely caught her interest. "Since you're going to be busy, how about letting me go home?" she asked. If he released her, maybe she could somehow warn the authorities that he was allowing himself to be taken into custody. Maybe they could guard him better, prevent his escape from happening and prevent the invasion.

His smile turned a little sharper. "Thinking of warning my adversaries, are we?"

Taryn raised her chin a little. "I kind of like the world as it is," she said. "I don't think humanity has the temperament for one supreme ruler."

"As they are now, you are indeed correct," Loki agreed, and he lifted the scepter she hadn't seen since he'd taken her from her classroom–it felt an eternity ago. "But I shall assist them to change their ways. Dr. Selvig will be brilliantly useful on that project as well. He has quite a fascinating mind."

"He probably did before you scrambled it."

Loki chuckled. "I cleared his mind, lovely girl. But I have no time to rehash that particular argument with you. I have an appointment to keep." He gestured at her door–it swung open to show a tall, intimidating, Arabic-looking man standing there in full body armor and cradling an AK-47 like it was his child. "This is Hassan," Loki said. "He is head of my personal security detail. His skills are surpassed only by Barton's, but I'm afraid I will require that worthy fellow to accompany me. Hassan, however, will remain here with a large force of his best men to guard you."

Fear clutched Taryn's throat. "Should I expect company?" she managed, staring at Hassan's blue-glazed eyes and the comfortable, competent way he held that ugly weapon.

"It's always a possibility," Loki replied easily. "But it is not one I expect. I am leaving a priceless treasure here. Naturally, it will be guarded accordingly, and not merely by guns and steel." He stepped forward and gently laid his hand over hers, which was all but strangling her fork. "You will be safe here until I return."

"Let me go," Taryn whispered, staring at the engravings on his breastplate rather than meeting his eyes. "I can't be what you need. Please, let me go."

Loki bent and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "I never will," he murmured against her skin, and her heart sank as he straightened once more. Now he looked at Hassan and his entire manner changed, chilled. "I give you only one command: protect this woman with your life or pay for your failure with the same," Loki ordered, and his voice wasn't hard or cold as she would've expected. The order was given in a soft tone that somehow threatened horrors much more effectively than any shouting ever could have.

Hassan bowed. "She will come to no harm on my watch, Lord," he replied.

"If she does," Loki replied, silky smooth, "you will pray for death before I grant it." Then he gazed down at Taryn once more. "Until we meet again, darling," he said, and vanished.


	11. Escaping the Madness

Taryn didn't leave her room for the rest of the day. She'd asked Hassan not to enter without permission, remembering Loki and therefore carefully wording the request to eliminate wiggle-room. He'd agreed to that restriction unless her safety was in question, and she'd accepted that. But with that privacy came her old enemy, boredom.

Giving in, she opened the door and saw Hassan standing just outside with four men bracketing either end of the hall. "Do you need something, Lady?" he asked her at once–Taryn could practically hear the capitalization of the title–as he straightened, instantly attentive.

"Um," she said, mind whirling, trying to think of something to say that wasn't _could all of you go away so I can try that escape route Barton told me about. _Somehow, Taryn couldn't imagine Loki's instructions to give her whatever she wanted stretched to that. "Are there any books in this place? Can you bring me something to read?"

"Of course," Hassan said, and snapped his fingers. One of his soldiers immediately strode away. "Do you require anything else, Lady?" She shook her head mutely and closed the door again.

The books they brought weren't exactly light reading. There were three thick manuals filled with diagrams and mathematical formulae and words longer than her arm–two of them listing Dr. Erik Selvig as the author–and she put those aside because her headache was just going away and she didn't want to piss it off again, thanks. Several paperbacks were in languages Taryn didn't speak, which was a shame because one had the unmistakable look of a paranormal romance novel.

She had to laugh then, because her life had apparently been turned into one hell of a paranormal romance.

There were also three newspapers–one in German, one in Russian, and finally a tabloid in English. She opened it and read it from front to back in sixty minutes flat, learning more than she ever wanted to know about some star's brave last days and some other star's bad plastic surgery and many, many stars who were possibly sleeping with many, many other stars. Only desperation to stave off boredom could have made her read that crap–there wasn't even a crossword–but since it was either that, brain-breaking advanced science, or sleep, she chose the tabloid.

No way in _hell_ was she going to sleep again until she collapsed from exhaustion.

Lunch was delivered by grim-faced guards, and hours later, dinner came the same way. The hours crawled by. She reread the tabloid three times after trying and failing to make sense of Selvig's books and was about to open the door again and request a deck of cards or something, anything else to do, when she heard a loud _bang_ even through the thick steel door. For an instant she froze, uncertain–was that gunfire? The steel door muffled the sound just enough to keep her from being certain. But whatever it was, the shouts she heard next convinced her that it wasn't anything good.

But on the other hand, something bad for Loki just might be good for her.

This might be the chance she'd been waiting for to try and slip out of the room without Hassan seeing her.

The stab of guilt that afflicted her at the idea of escape wasn't altogether unexpected and that worried her more than anything else. She was starting to lose herself in this crazy situation. Loki's memories kept ambushing her, confusing her priorities, muddling her thoughts with his fears and hopes and desires. Most especially with his certainty that she was the only thing that could bring him peace. _Loki doesn't need me,_ Taryn told herself firmly, repeating it over and over like a mantra that could override the desperation he felt to recreate the only life of thousands wherein he'd known true happiness. She refused to think about that. _He's a god–he'll find someone to love him. It doesn't have to be me!_

And she needed to get back to her life, back to things that made sense.

Her mind made up, she opened the door again, this time cautious to make as little noise as possible. Hassan and his men were gone. The hall lights flickered as though the power supply had been interrupted and it gave a surreal quality to everything. Honestly, between the shouts, gunfire–she was certain now that was what the noise was–and eerie half-lighting, it reminded her of a spooky video game. Taryn firmly pushed that thought aside as she made her cautious way down the deserted corridor. This was no game that she could restart if she made a mistake. This was real.

She would only get one chance at this.

She turned the corner, hoping to slip into the other hallway without being noticed in the commotion. There was a good chance of it, or at least she hoped so. Her navy slacks and charcoal sweater would blend into the shadows and the soles of her black boots were soft rubber instead of noisy heels. Then again, with the cacophony of what had to be a pitched battle, it was unlikely anyone would hear her footsteps even if she were wearing tap shoes. All she had to do was stay out of sight for the heartbeat of time it would take her to duck into the other corridor, just two little seconds–

–and she wasn't going to get them. As soon as Taryn cautiously peeked around the final corner into the main room, nearly a dozen of Loki's black-armored guards backed out of the very corridor she'd been heading toward. They were firing down that hall and were clearly in retreat. It must've been a full-scale invasion going on from all the noise. The report of automatic weapons was deafening in this enclosed space, and combined with the shouts and echoes and flashes of light, the scene was incredibly confusing. Then to make things worse, one of Loki's men glanced back and spotted her. "Sir!" he shouted, grabbing another guard's arm and pointing toward her.

No! It was Hassan, and when his clouded eyes met hers and flared with anger and panic, she heard the echo of Loki's command. He was already turning to run to her side, ready to do just that, but the last thing Taryn wanted was for someone to die for her!

"Run, get out of here, go!" Hassan yelled at her, breaking formation with his men and starting to run for her. Then a small silver cylinder flew over his head and rolled into the cavernous room and his eyes widened. "_Grenade!_ Get down!"

Taryn instinctively ducked a split second before the ground and walls shook with a blinding, deafening explosion–_flashbang,_ some part of her mind supplied, though the words made little sense right now. She found herself flat on her back, completely disoriented with her ears ringing and flashing spots dancing across her vision. Several endless seconds passed as she tried to think, to figure out what to do, but that was difficult because she couldn't quite remember what she had _been_ doing. Slowly the events of the last few minutes came back to her and she forced her eyes open. Patting her body, she didn't feel any pain or blood, but it was hard to be sure of anything with her head spinning like this.

The only thing she was sure of was that she couldn't stay here. Planning to escape was all well and good, but she hadn't banked on walking into a full-out _war._ Taryn rolled over and tried to get to her hands and knees, but her elbows buckled and she fell on her face. Nose and forehead throbbing distantly–everything felt distant–she tried again and this time managed to stay up.

But before she could try to crawl away or even decide what direction to crawl, rough hands grabbed her and yanked her upright. The sudden movement sent the world on a slow, sickening roll that almost made her pass out. Hassan, of course it was Hassan, pulled one of her arms over his shoulders and started to drag her away, shouting nonstop although she couldn't hear a word he was saying.

It didn't matter what he was saying anyway. He was preventing her from escaping! If she didn't get away now while Loki was gone, she might not get a chance like this again for weeks or months. And struggling as she was to keep her mental footing while dealing with the influx of Loki's memories, not to mention that little interlude in her bed this morning, she wasn't sure she would still _want _to escape after much more time.

_Protect this woman with your life or pay for your failure with the same,_ Loki's voice echoed in her head. Taryn winced and prayed that this man wouldn't pay the ultimate price for her escape attempt.

But regardless of that, she had to keep trying. She couldn't just give up and go back to that room. She _had_ to get away from this madness!

Taryn planted her free hand in Hassan's chest and shoved, trying to reclaim her arm, but he lifted her bodily off the floor and kept going. Fighting him in earnest now, Taryn kicked and punched and clawed at him, all to no avail. He didn't even slow down, not even when she bit him hard enough to draw blood. He might not have even noticed.

That was why she was shocked when Hassan abruptly stopped and shoved her away, hard. Unprepared, Taryn slammed into the wall and felt a sickening, wet _snap_ from her right arm. A nauseating wave of pain swamped her and she clutched at the injury. But she wasn't about to question her unexpected good fortune in getting away from him. Ignoring the pain, she managed to lurch to her feet and stumbled forward–

–and tripped over Hassan's body, sprawled in a pool of blood at her feet. _Protect her with your life,_ Loki had commanded, and he had–he'd died for her, just as he'd been ordered, and horror filled her throat with bile. Letting out a shocked scream she couldn't even hear, Taryn spun around, all thoughts lost in bright throbbing panic and the animal instinct to escape from danger, saw soldiers chasing her and tried to run back the way she'd come.

Another man sprinted out of the shadows in front of her with more soldiers at his back. Even in the darkness, his bright red, white, and blue uniform stood out vividly. She'd seen him before, Taryn knew it–why couldn't she place him?

Then someone else punched her in the back and her legs flew out from under her, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.


	12. Into the Nightmare

Her throat hurt terribly, dry and raw, but that was nothing compared to the screaming headache raging behind her eyes. And that in turn paled next to the agony of her body.

Taryn frowned and moaned when even that little movement made her head pound. Her bed felt hard, unyielding, even though her blankets were warm over her–did she have the flu? No, as bad as the flu's body aches could be, they were nothing compared to this. Her body didn't just ache_,_ it _throbbed _like a rotten tooth_._ She tried to lift a hand to touch her forehead and check for fever.

Only to be stopped short by a tight band around her wrist and the rattle of a chain.

The fog cleared instantly and Taryn abruptly remembered everything–Loki taking her from her classroom, waking handcuffed to a cot, his memories, her madness, the battle, Hassan's body at her feet–_everything._ Her eyes flew open and despite the pain of light stabbing her sensitive vision, she scanned the room desperately, praying that she would see her familiar bedroom at home and that all this had been a bad dream.

Unfortunately the sight that met her wasn't her own room and the handcuffs locking her wrist down assured her this was no dream. Not only that, but several thick straps crossed her chest, hips, legs, and ankles, securing her tightly to the bed.

She was well and truly trapped, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

But unlike the last time she'd woken up cuffed to a bed, now she was alone. Her right arm was strapped tightly across her body by some kind of sling, and she recalled the snap she'd felt in her shoulder after slamming into the brick wall–broken, probably. Despite the splinting, the limb still throbbed with each beat of her pounding heart. Her back and abdomen felt stiff and hot and tight, and pain stabbed through her middle every time she breathed–how hard had she been punched, anyway? She hoped like hell that the blow hadn't ruptured something internal.

She'd never even imagined agony like this. It made the worst thing she'd ever felt seem like a papercut.

And pain wasn't her only problem. The brightly-lit white room was completely empty except for her bed–a hospital bed, she saw now, with an IV pole mounted to one corner–and a wide mirror inset in the wall across from her. Her left wrist was cuffed to the silver side rail and the IV ran to the crook of her elbow on that side. The pain in her shoulder and abdomen surged raw and nauseating, making it difficult to think. Whatever that IV was, it clearly didn't contain any pain medication because she felt like she'd been run over by a tank.

Even so, she couldn't help a cautious burst of hope. There was nothing like this room anywhere in Loki's underground bunker. Apparently she _had_ escaped and that brought no small measure of relief, even though the guilt mixed in with it was troubling. Part of her couldn't help but imagine Loki's reaction to finding that she'd left him. He would feel so angry, so betrayed–

Taryn firmly cut that thought off. Clearly she was in a hospital even if it looked like no hospital room she'd ever seen. Still, all hospitals had nurses, and nurses had pain medicine, and if she didn't get some relief from this agony soon she really was going to throw up and she thought that just might kill her. Taryn patted the bed, searching was far as the handcuffs would allow, but there was no nurse call-button that she could find. Nor, she abruptly realized as she studied the walls, did she see a door.

"Hello?" She tried to shout it but her voice came out as a hoarse, nearly inaudible croak. She licked her cracked lips with a tongue that felt almost as dry as they were and tried again. "Hello? I need help–is anyone there?"

Almost immediately a panel opened in the otherwise seamless wall. A black-clad woman with scarlet hair entered, followed by two men–one, a terrifying-looking black man wearing an eyepatch and a black leather trenchcoat, and the other–

"Barton!" she gasped despairingly, recognizing him immediately. Taryn shook her head in instinctive denial, wishing she could disbelieve the evidence of her eyes. If Barton was here then she _hadn't_ escaped. If she hadn't escaped, this new room meant that Loki had moved her and now there was no telling how long it would be before she had another chance to get away. And she wasn't sure how much longer she could fight the compulsion to try and be everything Loki wanted her to be, to give him everything he needed, everything she was. Despite her best efforts, tears rolled down her cheeks. "Oh, _no_…"

Barton stared at her without moving, and belatedly she realized that was strange because he'd been nearly desperate to reassure her when she'd first awakened in his presence. The other man spoke, filling the silence. "Are you Taryn Elizabeth Roswell?" he asked.

Taryn nodded, still weeping silently and wishing she could curl up in a ball and hide, but the straps holding her down gave her no way to escape their scrutiny. How long would she have before Loki came to her again? What new madness would she have to fight next?

The one-eyed man seemed not to even notice her distress. "Dr. Roswell, I am Director Nick Fury, and this is Agent Natasha Romanov." He didn't specify what he was director of and she didn't ask. Taryn didn't even bother looking at either of them–she didn't want to see that glowing blue film over their eyes. Director Fury didn't seem surprised at her lack of response to his introductions. "I believe you are already acquainted with Agent Barton, although he was not himself during your prior association."

Vaguely the words penetrated the shell of misery and Taryn lifted her head to look at Barton once more. What she saw shocked her out of her tears.

The blue-light haze covering his eyes was _gone._

"You're free," she whispered, staring at him, even the misery of her head and shoulder and back and abdomen momentarily fading to the background. "How did you–" Then the deeper meaning of it hit her and she gasped. "Did I–am _I_ free, too?"

At those words, some expression entered his face for the first time–just a hint of it, barely enough to see, but she saw his anger. "You weren't controlled," Barton said, and his tone was different too–not quite cruel, but certainly chilly. "Not like the rest of us. So why–"

The man in the trenchcoat, Fury, held up a hand and Barton didn't finish the question, but Taryn didn't need him to. It was fairly obvious what he wanted to know. "I was kidnapped," she said, her throat aching. "He kidnapped me. I had nothing to do with what happened to you."

Fury withdrew a syringe from his suit pocket and held it up. The clear fluid within could've been anything. "I'd imagine you're fairly uncomfortable right now. This is morphine," he said, and somehow just knowing that relief was so close made the agony of her injuries that much worse–_uncomfortable _was an almost laughable understatement. "Answer our questions truthfully and you'll get all of this you need. However…"

Fury reached into his other pocket and pulled out a second syringe. This one held a cloudy, faintly yellow liquid that she instinctively recoiled from. "This, Dr. Roswell, is a concentrated and purified form of anatinus venom. It's a curious substance. We get it from the platypus–the males only. And unlike most venoms that kill or paralyze, anatinus venom's sole purpose is to cause and heighten the body's sensitivity to pain." He tapped the syringe, holding her horrified gaze the entire time. "Dishonesty or evasion will not be tolerated. Do you understand?"

Her brief moment of elation at her escape drowned beneath fear. This was like something out of a horror movie, something she'd expect to happen to terrorists in Guantánamo Bay–nothing that could ever happen to her. Taryn tried to sit up a little straighter. The straps dug into her flesh and triggered a jagged wave of agony that immediately made her stop. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything wrong! Who are you people?" The thought that she might be held prisoner again sent panic through her. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Dr. Roswell, this will go much more quickly if you just answer my questions without trying to ask your own," Fury cut off her rising hysteria. "Here's what you need to know. Answer my questions and you'll get better. Refuse to answer, or lie, and you'll get… this."

He uncapped the second syringe and, ignoring her struggles, jabbed it into the big muscle of her thigh. Then, holding her terrified gaze, he injected a tiny amount of the cloudy yellow venom.

It felt like flaming acid spread from the needle, melting her muscle, frying her skin. Taryn screamed and tried to jerk her leg away–couldn't, the strap held her fast–screamed again as her writhing wrenched fire through her middle–her leg was ice-cold, boiling-hot, muscles spasming with agony that spread outward in a malignant wave–all her wounds throbbed harder, jagged red lines of anguish piercing her flesh–

It didn't go away, but after some unknown time, she was able to stop screaming. She sobbed with terror and pain. Had she thought she hurt before? Concussions and broken bones were nothing, _nothing _compared to this venom. Shaking all over, highly aware that Fury hadn't pulled the needle from her leg, Taryn felt like she was trapped in a nightmare…

"Are you ready to cooperate now, Dr. Roswell?" Fury asked, the needle still an icy invasion in her flesh.

… or in one of Loki's flashbacks.

And somehow Loki's memories gave her strength now. He'd been through worse, much worse, and he'd survived–not entirely sane, true, but he'd _survived._ He'd found a path through the pain and she could do it, too. Opening her mind to the memories now rather than fighting them off, Taryn dove as deeply as she could into them, searching for the key to Loki's resolve.

And when she found it, it was ridiculously simple. _It doesn't last forever. Hold to one thing, one single thing they can't take, and when it's over, no matter what else they pry or slice or beat out of me, they won't have won._

Taryn fought down the panic and nodded, her throat raw and her body shaking all over. Right now she didn't have much choice but to cooperate. It was clear that there would be no getting around this Director Fury–her tears would have no effect, nor would begging or protestations of innocence. Her best option–her _only_ option–was to cooperate fully.

And she would hold to one thing. The one thing they couldn't take. It would be that Loki saw her as salvation, as goodness, as hope. They could take everything else, but she would always have that. Somehow, insane as it seemed, something about her was special enough to inspire a god to believe in _her._

"I'll cooperate," Taryn whispered, thinking of hope and that pain doesn't last forever.

"Smart choice," Fury said, and finally, _finally _pulled the needle out. He held up the syringe, showing her the markings on the side. "You'll notice that you just received one tenth of a milliliter. Next injection will be half a mil directly into your bloodstream. Can you imagine feeling it pumping through your entire body?" She shuddered and he smiled, his expression almost as chilling as the threat. "Whatever you're imagining, I guarantee it's worse. Keep that in mind."

She would. "Can I have some water so I can answer you better?" she whispered. Her dry, aching throat was the least of her woes, but trying to talk like this would be difficult.

"Doctor's orders are nothing by mouth for now. Sorry," Fury replied, sounding anything but.

"Why?" The word escaped before Taryn could hold it back and she bit her lip so hard she drew blood. He'd told her not to ask questions–she prayed he wouldn't give her another injection just to drive the instruction home.

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment, letting her fear build. Then, surprisingly, he answered her. "Because you were shot during the raid, Dr. Roswell." Her shock must've shown on her face because he added, "You're going to pretend you don't remember what happened?"

His flat tone was all the warning she needed. "No, I remember," she blurted, knowing that if she tried to claim amnesia of her time in Loki's custody, she'd never get that morphine–maybe pain didn't last, but that didn't mean she couldn't try to minimize it, did it? Her abdomen twisted and cramped as if knowing the cause of her pain somehow increased it–or maybe that was the venom. "I just… I thought that someone punched me." Now that she said it out loud, it sounded stupid, but she'd never been shot before. How was she supposed to know what it felt like?

And then it hit her–that _punch_ had been to her back, not her stomach. _They had shot her in the back. _

If she'd ever had any hope of mercy at these people's hands, that realization killed it.

The woman, Romanov, crossed to the bed and took her hand while Taryn struggled to think past the panic of her revelation. Cool fingertips pressed against her pulse just beside the metal handcuff, bringing her back to the present. Barton took the syringes from Fury and attached them to a pair of ports on her IV but didn't inject either of them. Fury watched the two agents, and he watched Taryn watching them, and then he crossed his arms over his chest. "If you lie, Agent Romanov will detect it," he warned her. "Lie detectors make mistakes. She doesn't."

"I'm not going to lie," Taryn promised, terrified and suffering and praying he would believe her.

Fury didn't respond to that. "How did you come to be in Germany?"

She gaped at him for a moment, but the slight pressure of the woman's fingers on her wrist brought her out of her shock quickly. "I didn't know I was in Germany," she whispered to explain her hesitation. _Loki took me to the other side of the world?_

Fury scowled. "Don't play games. How did you come to be in that bunker, Dr. Roswell?"

Taryn wanted to protest that she hadn't been trying to avoid the question, but seeing the utter lack of empathy on Fury's face–this was definitely a man who would shoot a fleeing woman in the back–she decided it was best not to even try. "Loki came to my class–my Comparative Mythology class, I'm a professor at–"

"We know."

She swallowed at the interruption and pressed on. "He came in while I was discussing the myth of the Binding of Loki. Agent Barton was with him–" now she did look at Barton again and flinched at the coldness of his expression, "–and another man, too. Loki got mad when I didn't believe he was really the same Loki in the myth and he blew up my computer with–with magic–to prove that he was the god." She looked fearfully at Fury, knowing that sounded crazy.

Fury's gaze flickered to Romanov, and although she gave no signal that Taryn could see, he nodded as if confirming something. "And what did this _god_–" he said the word mockingly, "–want with a mythology professor? Checking up on his old press releases?"

Taryn shook her head, starting to feel desperate. She hadn't lied but she couldn't shake the feeling that he thought she had. "He didn't make much sense then. He said I would choose him. That Sigyn had been a mistake–that was his wife in mythology–but I would understand him. He told me to dismiss my class and I did–I didn't want them to get hurt. Then he… he kissed me, and I blacked out.

"I woke up chained to a cot," she finished, her already-rough voice now almost inaudible. This was truly going to be an ordeal if one question had shredded her throat this much, but she didn't dare stop. The pain racing through her body was making her dizzy and nauseated, and if she had to endure it much longer, she might start screaming again. "He–I mean, Agent Barton was there when I woke up, too." But she stopped there because Barton's blue eyes flashed with anger at the reminder. Clearly his captivity had left him furious, not that she could blame him.

Fury stared at her for a moment, then nodded almost imperceptibly. Barton reached for the syringes and she flinched, fearing she hadn't been believed, but he injected a little bit of morphine into the IV line, giving her only a fraction of what was in the syringe. Then to her surprise, he reached behind the bed and pulled out a cup of ice chips. He spooned one into her mouth. It was heaven, cold and wet and far too little, but when she looked hopefully for more, he put the cup down again. "Keep cooperating and you'll get more," Barton said, and she nodded.

That little bit of medicine wasn't enough to make any difference whatsoever in her pain. She was almost eager for the next question, praying that another answer would lead to finally getting some relief. She now understood how people could be tortured into giving false confessions and thanked God that she only had to tell the truth.

"Tell me what you know about the man who kidnapped you," Fury said, crossing his arms over his chest again. "The man who calls himself Loki. Tell us everything you know about him."

What did she know about Loki? A sudden swirl of images and memories briefly swamped her–so many lifetimes, every thought and hope and dream, every hurt and slight and humiliation, birth and death and Ragnarok in endless chaotic swirling repetition.

What _didn't_ she know about Loki?

But she couldn't describe all those memories–they were too much, too many, far too confusing, and she'd never get through it all. She could tell her hesitation had gone on too long because Fury's one eye narrowed and she blurted, "He really is Loki. He's a god, the God of Mischief and Lies, the real thing," just because she didn't want to find out what happened when Fury wasn't satisfied with her cooperation.

"What if I told you we don't believe in gods?"

"I'd tell you it doesn't matter what you believe in," Taryn replied before she could censor her words. When he scowled, she went on in a fearful rush, "I've seen what he does and it's magic. I know that sounds crazy but it is. Barton could tell you, if he remembers–"

"Agent Barton is here to discuss your memories, not his," Fury interrupted. "I'm not going to ask you again. Tell me what I want to know or you'll get another dose of the venom. Who is this man and what does he want?"

Taryn clenched her fist in frustration but quickly relaxed it again when the woman squeezed her wrist in warning. How could she make them understand when she barely understood it herself?

"He's not a man," she said, and went on as quickly as she could when Fury crossed his arms and looked angry. "I'm not lying! _He really is a god!_ He did something to me, showed me his memories, and there were thousands of lifetimes of them. No man could have so many memories, not like that. And in every one of them, he was tortured and tormented. He wants revenge. He wants to rule the Earth and he wants… he wants me to be his queen." This last was said in a whisper but she didn't dare leave it out.

"And what's so important about _you?_"

Fury's question was a sneer. Barton reached for the second syringe but didn't inject, merely held it, his thumb resting lightly on the plunger. Taryn couldn't tear her eyes away from that and tried desperately to explain. "In all those lives, there was only one where he was happy," she said, starting at Barton's hand on that syringe, thinking _half a mil in the vein, I won't survive that_. "Only one life that was good. Somehow I was in that one–I don't know why or how, but I was there, and he decided that he needs me in order to recreate it. That's why he took me from my class. He thinks I'm going to fall in love with him and make him happy again."

It sounded like a selfish, twisted, self-absorbed fantasy even to her own ears. When she finally managed to force her gaze back to Fury again, every line of his body screamed disbelief. Her nerves finally snapped and Taryn's hoarse voice broke as she cried, "I _know_ it sounds crazy! Don't you think I know that? Do you think I _wanted _to be some kind of, of _obsession_ for an insane god bent on world domination? I don't want to be queen of the damn world! I just want to go _home!"_

She was crying again now, frightened and angry and in so much pain she wanted to scream. Fury stared at her for a long moment before nodding to Barton. Taryn cried, "No, don't!" but instead of injecting the venom, Barton instead reached for the first syringe and gave her another tiny amount of morphine.

"You–you believe me?" she gasped, her heart pounding so hard it was nauseating, so frightened and so desperately confused she could hardly keep two thoughts together in her head.

Fury took a breath to answer, but before he could say a word, the hidden door suddenly burst open–literally. Shards flew all around the room and peppered her with tiny stings as an enormous, heavily muscled blond man charged into the room, outrage written in every line of his body and face.

And she recognized him immediately–how could she not? That face had been in nearly every one of Loki's best and worst memories over countless torturous lives. "Thor," she breathed, panic taking over and squeezing him in its icy grip. He had tormented Loki so very many times. What would he do to her now?


	13. Thundering to the Rescue

**To those who have asked me to put this in movie-time context, when Loki took his leave of Taryn and gave her into Hassan's care, that was just before his lovely "KNEEL BEFORE ME" appearance in Stutgardt. So when the raid happened on his underground base and Cap was there, you can see a bit of time passed-enough for him to have been at Loki's "capture" and Thor's dramatic entrance, and to have returned to lead the invasion on the base. Taryn got shot and was out of it for about a day-ish, during which Loki was locked up in Hulk's lovely room, pissed everyone off long-distance, and Hawkeye + assorted flunkies busted Loki out and put a hurt on the Helicarrier.**

**Now is where I admit to departing from the movie a bit, because I needed Banner and Thor present to throw their muscle around and they're basically _not_ after Loki is rescued by his henchmen. But I wanted them, and this is my story, so Hulk did his thing and came back. Same with Thor. Because I said so.**

**Also, I don't like Nick Fury much. (I'm sure my long-time readers will be SO shocked to hear that... him and Odin, man, they light my fuse and not in a good way...) My dislike is based on some of his treatment of Tony Stark, but mostly because after Loki is captured and Fury is talking with Thor, he's all about the torture. Thor says, "There's no pain could prise his need from him" and Fury says, "A lot of people think that until the pain starts." Translation, oh, you think it won't work? I'll just torture him HARDER then! So the fact that he was torturing Taryn isn't the slightest bit out of character.**

**As a last note, platypus venom is a real thing. I don't know if it can be purified and concentrated, as I've done here, but I didn't make it up. "Ornithorhynchus anatinus" is the scientific name for the platypus, hence, my creation of "anatinus venom." Now you have learned something today, and since you should learn one new thing every day, you are officially a success. Congratulations, you! **

.

Luckily for Taryn, Thor's anger wasn't focused on her.

"Nicholas Fury, I did not want to believe you would truly torture a helpless woman. Have you no shame, no _honor?"_

Thor's enraged growl rolled through the room like the thunder he commanded as he strode to her bedside and firmly pushed Barton away from the IV When the agent resisted, Thor threateningly raised an enormous metal hammer, and Taryn realized with shock and wonder that she was looking at the real Mjolnir, the Hammer of Asgard.

Two other men pushed their way into the room while Thor glared Barton down until he backed off. First came the tall blond man in the red, white, and blue uniform she'd glimpsed during the raid. She now she recognized him as Captain America, the World War 2 hero–she'd grown up on stories about him. Cap was followed by a much smaller man wearing a white lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses. Looking around at the tension between Fury, Barton, Romanov, Thor and Captain America, he hesitated in the doorway.

Romanov released Taryn's wrist and stepped to block the intruders from her bed. "Who told you we were here?" she demanded.

"Is that really important?" Cap shot back, likewise striding forward, getting right in her face. Taryn's fear spiked at the promise of violence storming between them. If there was a fight, she was helpless to get out of the way.

"This ends now," Thor said, giving Fury the full force of his wrathful gaze.

"Thor, stand down," Fury returned sharply.

"You do not command the Son of Odin," Thor growled, half-raising Mjolnir. "You would be wise not to try."

Fury apparently wasn't wise. "I don't give a fuck whose son you are. You're on my team and you'll take orders from me whether you like it or not, and this is _my_ captive and _my_ interrogation!"

The Captain strode to her bedside as Thor and Fury shouted at each other. He ignored them and laid a gentle hand on her good shoulder–her skin throbbed, even so far from the injection site, and she whimpered. "Ma'am, I'm truly sorry for what you've been through. We're here to help you," Cap said.

Taryn gaped up at him, trembling hard and hardly able to understand the sudden change in her circumstances. The yelling, the threat of violence saturating the air, Thor's presence, her pain–it was too much, she couldn't comprehend it. She tugged at the handcuffs, hardly aware of what she was doing. It was nothing more than an animal's desperate urge to escape the anger and violence in the air.

Cap looked back at the smaller man in the doorway, worry writ large on his expressive face. "She's shaking all over, Bruce–if she's not in shock already, she's close. Do you think you can do something for her?"

Bruce nodded as he hurried to her bedside. He scowled when he saw the two syringes in the IV line and pulled them from the ports. Taryn couldn't hold back the little sob of relief when the threat they posed was gone. He brandished them at the archer. "What the hell were you giving her, Hawkeye?" Bruce demanded, and despite the fact that he was several inches shorter and at least fifty pounds lighter than the muscular agent, _Barton_ was the one who took a cautious step back.

"She's had a little of this one–it's morphine," Barton said, pointing at the syringe in his right hand. Then he gestured to the one in Bruce's left hand and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was a mixture of defiance and something that might have been shame. "And that's purified anatinus venom."

Bruce stood stock-still for a moment, clutching the syringes. "Have. You. Lost. Your. Fucking. _Mind?" _he snarled, every word bitten off. Something started beeping a strident warning–his watch, maybe–and Barton, as well as everyone except Thor, took another fearful step back.

Barton glared at the shorter man even though he'd retreated. "No, I got my mind _back_."

The thunder god, however, stepped closer and laid a massive hand on Bruce's slight shoulder. "Easy, my friend," he murmured. "This is not the place."

The reminder seemed to calm him. Bruce carefully put both syringes down and took slow, deep breaths. Everyone, even Fury, went silent as if afraid to disturb his efforts to calm down. The watch eventually stopped its beeping, but Bruce's voice was still stilted when he spoke again. "Do you. Have _any_ idea. What anatinus. Venom feels like?" he asked Barton, literally shaking with the effort of containing his anger.

"Yeah, actually I do," Barton replied, and although he was clearly making an effort to ratchet down his own anger, he didn't sound apologetic in the least.

"And knowing that, you would still give it to someone else? Straight into the _vein?_" Bruce's voice rose and the beeping started up again.

"Doctor, you need to calm yourself," Fury ordered, scowling. "It won't help anyone if you lose your temper, the prisoner least of all."

"_Prisoner?"_ Thor roared the word loud enough to make them all wince, and Bruce's watch beeped more insistently. "My brother has already done her enough harm. You would add to it by victimizing her once more? I will not stand for this!"

"Yeah, _prisoner_," Fury repeated firmly. "This isn't your call, Thor. We don't know where Loki is, what he's planning, or how to stop him. I need that information fucking _yesterday_. We don't have time to play nice, or have you forgotten the body count your brother has racked up in the last three days? Have you forgotten Coulson?"

The two of them started arguing again. Bruce finally got hold of his temper and reached out to Taryn, but Romanov stepped forward and caught his wrist before he could touch her. His green eyes flashed with anger–they almost looked like they glowed with it–and he took a deep breath before looking deliberately at the agent. "You don't want to go there with me right now, Natasha," he said quietly. He was still enunciating every word with extreme care. "Trust me. You really, really don't."

Romanov released his arm as if burned but she didn't step away. "You don't need to get involved in this," she told him. "Just leave it to us, Dr. Banner. We've got it under control."

"Yes, we can see just how _under control _you have it." Now it was Captain America speaking, and he sounded nearly as angry as Thor. "So we rescue people from criminals just so we can torture them ourselves? If this is what America does now, I wish I'd stayed in the ice. Did anyone even ask her if she _wanted_ to cooperate first?"

Fury turned his back on Thor and glared at the group surrounding the bed. "This woman spent several days with Loki during his little killing spree, seemingly of her own free will, so excuse me if I feel the need to give her a little motivation to answer truthfully," he bit out, his own temper rising. "Even Hawkeye had to get the shit beat out of him before he could shake off Loki's mind control–"

Barton was frowning now as he interrupted Fury. "Wait, whoa, I told you she wasn't being controlled like I was," he said, a hint of doubt showing in his face for the first time. "You said she refused to answer your questions, Director."

Taryn stared wide-eyed at the drama taking place around her. When all eyes turned to her, she wished she could cower. "This is the first time anyone's asked me anything," she whispered, and then winced when Romanov swore in some other language–Russian, maybe–and Barton spun away from her and punched the wall.

"You lying fucking _bastard_," he snarled at Fury.

Thor shoved past Fury with a sound of disgust. He grasped the handcuffs securing Taryn's arm to the side rail and snapped the chain without any apparent effort at all. The strap across her chest ripped like tissue paper between his massive hands. Taryn's jaw dropped at his strength, but then she gasped when Fury drew his guns.

"Back away from the prisoner, Thor," Fury ordered, one pistol aimed directly at Thor's head and the other at Captain America's chest.

The blond god snorted and didn't stop tearing away the straps that kept her down. "Your puny weapon will have no effect on me," he scoffed, and Cap added, "I've survived bullets before, I'm pretty sure I can do it again."

Bruce stepped between Fury and Cap and stared down the barrel of the gun. "You'd have to shoot me first and you know what will happen if you do that, Director," he said quietly, and damned if everyone wasn't hanging on this small man's every word like he was a nuclear bomb seconds from going off. Taryn couldn't imagine why–he seemed like the least dangerous person in the room. "Do you really want to be responsible for the Other Guy making another scene?"

Fury held his gaze for a long moment, so long that Taryn thought her heart might pound its way right out of her chest, before he sighed and holstered the weapons.

When Thor had done away with the last of her restraints, Captain America carefully lifted Taryn from the bed. She tried, truly she did, but she couldn't stop a strangled, agonized scream from escaping. "Sorry, God, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he murmured, cradling her to his broad chest as she tried unsuccessfully to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. Every inch of her throbbed and burned–shoulder, back, stomach, head, and especially her thigh. The only time she'd ever experienced pain like this was in Loki's memories.

And there, unfortunately, she'd felt such agony many times.

Taryn pushed the visions away and concentrated on Cap's soothing voice, the concern in his blue eyes. "We're going to make it better soon, I promise. Bruce, can you unhook her?"

"Got it," Banner replied, and an instant later, he had disconnected the IV tubing and clamped the saline lock in her arm. "Okay, she's ready. Let's go."

Despite putting his guns away, Fury still didn't move away from the door. "Stand down," he growled. "All of you. I can't let you do this. We need the information she has. The world is quite literally at stake, don't you people understand that?"

To Taryn's surprise, it was Barton who answered, and he did so by drawing his own pistol and aiming it right at Fury's throat. "Let them pass," he said. "Now."

Fury stared at him for a long moment before finally stepping aside. "Barton, you're still compromised."

"No," Barton countered, not lowering his weapon. "I'm not being controlled by Loki. I'm just pretty sure I don't want to be controlled by you, either. I'm fed up with lies."

"The blood of millions will be on your hands!" Fury shouted after them as they left with Taryn. "If we don't stop Loki, it will be your fault! Rogers, this will make Hitler look like a playground bully!"

Captain America's arms stiffened around her and Taryn's fingers dug into his shoulders with a combination of pain and fear. Even though his war heroics were before her time, she'd grown up on Captain America comics and she could only imagine how much Hitler's depravity haunted him. "I'll help you, I will, I'll tell you everything I know," Taryn babbled, desperate now, certain they'd turn around and give her back to Fury. "I will, I really will, I swear."

"I know," he replied, and to her surprise, he smiled down at her–and even though she saw the tension in his face, it was a genuine smile. "Don't worry, ma'am. You're safe now. I give you my word."


	14. It's Going To Hurt

**Thanks to all of you who took the time to review! I love getting that email notification, it's like brain candy and it makes me happy, happy happy. Mwah!**

.

Half an hour later, Taryn lay in a much softer bed in a different part of the ship–because it _was _a ship, an enormous one–and felt the tension drain out of her muscles as the injection Bruce had given her finally began to diminish her agony. "Oh, God, thank you," she breathed, melting into the mattress. Even being surrounded by intimidating strangers–Thor, Captain America (who'd told her to call him Steve), Agents Barton and Romanov, and a dark-haired man she recognized from a thousand tabloids as Tony Stark, the Iron Man himself–didn't diminish her relief. Of all of them, Bruce was the least intimidating, at least until she remembered how frightened they'd all been when his watch started beeping.

But that was a puzzle for another time. Right now, all she wanted was to lie here and let the medicine work its magic.

"I'm sorry it took so long for it to take effect," Bruce replied. He patted her hand and tried to smile, but anger still hovered in his gaze and the tight lines around his mouth. "Unfortunately when pain reaches a severe level, it doesn't respond to medicine as well."

She still hurt worse than she'd ever hurt in her life, but it no longer felt like she was going to die from the pain alone and her discomfort decreased with each passing minute. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply for the first time since she'd awakened in that prison-like room. "Ask me your questions," she said, hardly noticing that the words were a little slurred from shock and exhaustion and drugs. "I'll tell you everything I know."

"Not now," Bruce replied firmly before anyone else could say a word. "Now you rest. Your body's been through an enormous trauma. You need time to recover before any further stress."

She forced her eyes open again, frowning. "You don't have time," she replied, echoing Fury. Much as she hated to agree with him on anything, she knew he wasn't lying about that. "Loki's not going to nicely sit back while you wait for me to feel better."

Bruce clearly didn't like her reply. "He'll keep for a few hours," he insisted. "You should sleep, Dr. Roswell."

"Taryn," she corrected. "And he won't keep. Believe me, I know that much." Oh, how she knew it. "I promised to tell you everything, remember?"

Thor stepped forward, looking uncertain. "Lady Taryn," he said, his thunderous voice now quiet, "do you indeed know what my brother is planning? I am sorry to ask you while you are in such a condition," he added when Bruce glared at him, "but you are correct. My brother will not be put off by the raid on his secret base. If anything, he will accelerate his plans. Anything you can tell us would be helpful."

Bruce abruptly stood and walked away from her bedside. Taryn was sorry to see him go and hoped she hadn't offended him too much, but she really did want to help. "He plans to take over the Earth," she said, blinking rapidly to stave off a sudden surge of lightheadedness that swept much of the pain aside and made what remained seem far-off and unimportant. Oh, yes, he'd given her the good drugs and she wished she could just close her eyes and savor the relief. But she wrenched her mind back into focus. "He will rule us, impose his will on us all, and end all wars and strife. He wants to bring peace by eliminating free will."

Stark whistled low. "That's some crazy-ass logic right there," he said, but he sounded almost impressed. "And it'd probably work, too. How's he plan to do it? I get the feeling his mind-control stick is a one-on-one thing."

"And it's not like the Earth has a single seat of power," Natasha added. "Conquering a planet is not so easy."

Taryn nodded. She felt tired, so tired, but Fury's comment about Loki's three-day body count haunted her and she pressed on. "He has an army," she said, and now even she could hear the slur to her words. "He's creating a doorway with the Tesseract–"

"You know about the Tesseract?" Steve asked, stunned. "That's supposed to be top secret!"

She forced her eyes open and met Steve's for a moment. "I know everything," she said wearily. "He… I guess you'd say he showed me his mind. All his memories, all his lives–this one, too. I know what he knows, but it's really hard to, to figure out what's in there. It's so much."

"You know but you don't know what you know?" he said, clearly confused. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

She sighed, knowing she wasn't making much sense. "It's _all_ in there and that's the problem–it's like he put the world's biggest library in my head but without any organization. The only way to know what's there is to read all the books. And to be honest, most of what I _have_ seen is not very pleasant. I haven't exactly been eager to go poking around in there."

Thor was frowning. "Loki showed you his mind," he murmured, echoing her words. His big hands clenched and unclenched and he didn't quite look into her eyes when he said, "Did he… also share his thoughts about me?" She nodded reluctantly and his face lit with emotion–hope, worry, longing, and desperate, anxious love. "Tell me, then! Does my brother hold any wish for reconciliation between us?"

Taryn winced. Even without looking directly at her, she could easily read the desire for his brother to return to him on his face, and she closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to watch that hope turn to pain. "It's… it's really complicated, Thor," she whispered, hoping he would take that for an answer.

But another part of her, a part that felt kinship with Loki instead of fear of him, urged her to tell him–tell him everything, make him hurt because he deserved it. Taryn wasn't entirely sure if that was her own urge or not. She didn't want to feel kinship with Loki in any way, but this didn't feel like it came from outside herself. It felt like it came from the years she'd spent as the least popular kid in school, Carrot-Top, nerd, geek, and all the other names hurled at her by bullies.

Thor was a bully–no doubt about it. But he was also the one who'd broken down that door and saved her from torture. It would be pretty damn poor of her to repay that debt with pain.

His voice, deep and resonant for all its hesitation, interrupted her internal debate. "I would still hear it. Please."

She sighed, realizing he wouldn't be put off. So be it. From the memories Loki had shared with her, Thor deserved any pain he felt at the revelations, but she still felt like shit for destroying his hopes–after all, _she_ wasn't a bully, and she derived no pleasure from the pain of others. She struggled for words for several moments, trying to find a way to express all the complex emotions Loki felt for his brother/not-brother, before finally realizing that no words could ever be enough.

_You have a touch of magic as well…_ Loki's murmured words echoed in her mind and his memories abruptly told her exactly what she needed to do.

Taryn reached out to Thor and he took her hand after an instant's hesitation. The magic came to her with stunning ease, as if she'd done this a million times–the benefit of Loki's absorbed knowledge. Then, the bridge to Thor's mind created, she found that adamantium box she and Loki had constructed to hold his memories, took a deep breath for courage, and opened it.

Just a crack.

Thor went rigid, gripping her hand so tightly it should probably hurt but for the whopping dose of pain medication Bruce had given her, and she saw and felt it all anew with him:

_Excited to show his big brother the spell he'd just mastered, a child Loki ran to find Thor on the practice fields–he was always there now, always training with his new friends, never had time for his bookish little brother now that they no longer shared a nursery, but even _he_ would like this. "Thor! Look!" he called, and called a fireball into his hand–his concentration slipped a little in his eagerness and the fire seared his hand–he ignored the bright flash of pain and threw the fireball. It sailed past Thor and hit a practice dummy in an explosion of heat and flames and destruction. Panting, proud, _magic IS a worthy weapon, you have to see that now!,_ Loki beamed at Thor and waited for praise that didn't come. "I can do the same with a lit arrow. Perhaps you could too, if you would take time to learn a man's arts instead of a woman's," Thor scoffed, dismissing him, turning his back, utterly uncaring of the hours, the _weeks_ it had taken to learn this spell, and oh, the stab of pain, of anger, of humiliation in Loki's breast! _One day I will MAKE you recognize my magic,_ he vowed, hiding his emotions–oh, he was just a child and experience had already taught him to lie so easily–laughing at the jests of Thor's friends as if it didn't matter, as if he wasn't bleeding inside…_

_An early-adolescent journey to Svartalfheim gone bad, just Thor and Loki hunting bilgesnipe for sport, but one of the gigantic beasts had gotten lucky and trampled Thor before he could lift his sword and kill it. Loki had slain the thing with a tiny thrown dagger laced with a spell that stopped its massive heart–his magic had grown in refinement and strength over the last hundred years and he was certain that one day his skill would be unmatched by any witch or sorcerer in all the Realms, yet now, still young, he swayed from the power it had taken to extinguish such a large life-force. Taking no time to rest, he stumbled to his wounded brother's side, aghast at the splinters of bone glimpsed through torn, crushed flesh. Thor had spat mouthful after mouthful of blood as Loki drained himself past all good sense in healing him, exhausting his remaining strength and drawing on his own spirit to finish knitting together all the broken things inside Thor's body because even his condescending older brother couldn't deny _this_, until Thor sprang to his feet, good as new, and sneered down at Loki as he knelt panting and shaking on the ground, "You're meant to be so clever, why didn't you just call for Heimdall to send the healers? Now look at you! I'll have to carry you home like a fainting maiden…"_

_Kneeling again but this time before all of Asgard, his spine unbent beneath the laughter of a thousand mocking mouths and the weight of so many avid gazes, all of them feeding his determination not to move or make a sound. Brokk took out his dull awl and the rough strip of leather, determined to make this hurt as much as possible, and the dwarf smirked as Thor–Thor, the one who'd benefited most from Loki's dangerous scheme, who'd been gifted with Mjolnir!–stepped forward to say loudly, "I will hold you, brother, so you do not dishonor yourself" as though _he _were the one doing _Loki _the favor–such humiliation, such rage, seething and terrible! Loki endured the pain of the dwarf sewing his lips together by plotting some suitable revenge upon Thor for shaming him with that announcement, the way he'd made it clear to all that even _he_ didn't believe Loki could accept his punishment like a man–emphasizing the insult by holding him tightly enough to crack his ribs even though Loki hadn't struggled, hadn't so much as twitched, but Thor still denied him the chance to prove his strength and honor to all of Asgard…_

_The crushing weight of Mjolnir upon his chest as Thor pinned him beneath it a hundred, a thousand times–"I will release you soon, brother, but try, just try, a real warrior could lift it"_–_pain and suffocation and fury because yes, Thor could lift that damned hammer while Loki could not, but Thor could never have tricked the dwarves into making it–not just creating it but giving it to Asgard as a gift–and Loki had done just that. But of course, real warriors didn't use tricks, real warriors didn't use intelligence and magic and cunning and everything that Loki was, and every time he saw Thor striding through Asgard like a crowing cock with that hammer at his side, Loki regretted ever giving him such a powerful gift and wished he could take it back…_

_Mocked, always, _always_ mocked, called _sister_ and _seidmadr _and _maiden_ and worse, until he'd finally found a way to show Thor what that was like and watched him don Freya's dress and flowers and all her bridal finery to reclaim the treasured hammer he'd lost through his own drunken stupidity. But Thor had never been mocked for his cross-dressing or his idiocy–no, when that tale was retold, it was _Loki_ who was mocked for wearing Frigga's falcon dress (never mind that it was the only way to discover where Mjolnir was!), _Loki_ who was laughed at for dressing as a bridesmaid (never mind that the mighty Thor himself was the bride!), and the unfairness, the injustice of it clawed at him and gave him his first taste of insanity…_

_A thousand jests, a million insults, a billion overheard whispers–_Loki will never be a true warrior, Thor, you should leave him at home with the other women_–this from Lady Sif, more a man in Asgard's eyes than Loki would ever be because she hacked with a blade while he dared to make use of the magic that saturated him to the point that he would go mad if he _didn't_ use it… _

Perhaps you can find a lover here too, Loki–_this from Fandral as he lounged in a tavern with a giggling whore on each knee, but instead of pointing at the group of wenches awaiting a warrior's beckon, he'd nodded toward a line of grizzled elders drinking at the bar, old _men_, and Thor had laughed with the rest of them, laughed so hard he spilled his mead as Loki forced a smile and pretended their disdain didn't cut him, and he cast a little spell to ensure that Fandral's plans for the evening would end in limp disappointment…_

It is good, I suppose, to have a spare prince_–he'd overheard Hogun saying this to Sif one night in the dark corridor outside the feasting halls after Thor had a particularly close brush with death during one of their quests, the comment more cutting because Hogun said so little and never spoke without thought, so this must be his true opinion of Loki–the Spare Prince, useless, extraneous, unneeded and unwanted…_

Perhaps one day you'll join us in the fight and learn what danger is_–this from Volstaag, fat, lazy, stupid Volstaag who had no idea, not the slightest _inkling_ of the dangers Loki had faced in perfecting the spells he flung from that "safe" distance. Warriors fighting with steel only had to worry about damage to their bodies, but Loki had fought down beasts who cared nothing for his flesh and would have savaged his very _soul_–there was no safety in magic–none!–yet they all mocked him, all thought him craven, Loki Cowardson, the Trickster too frightened to join the battle honorably, the weakling who flung blades and spells from a distance…_

Some do battle, others merely do tricks_–Thor, always the most cutting remarks came from Thor because Loki could not stop caring what his brother thought so it hurt the most when he dismissed Loki's magic, his intelligence, his ability to plan as mere _tricks_ even when they saved Thor's stupid, arrogant life, and oh, _I will show him,_ show them all that Loki is no coward, no spare prince, no one to overlook…_

Know your place–_reprimanded because Loki had dared to speak against Thor's hubris, his determination to pick a fight that could not end well, despite the fact that Loki had planned for Thor to attempt this. Attempt, yes, but not to succeed, because Loki did not want to risk his own skin for these fools, he'd only wanted to show the All-Father his heir's true colors, but then the Jotunn had grabbed Loki's arm and shown him _his_ true colors instead…_

I will not fight you, brother!_–no, of course he wouldn't fight, Loki wasn't _worthy_ to be an opponent to the mighty Thor Odinson, Odin's _true_ son–never mind that Loki had saved Odin's life, never mind that he had singlehandedly won Asgard's war against Jotunnheim without the loss of a single Æsir life–more than that, without even _risking_ a single Æsir life! Never mind that such a thing was a feat unattainable by steel alone, never mind that his brilliance had handed Asgard a victory so profound the Jotunn could never recover from it–no, Loki was unworthy to face Thor, unworthy to fight Thor, unworthy to even stand in his exalted shadow, always _unworthy_…_

_All this and more, a thousand years of humiliation and mockery, a thousand years of being made to feel utterly useless, unworthy, unwanted and alone–_Taryn pushed it all at Thor, holding on when he tried to pull away, saturating him with Loki's pain, bludgeoning him with it, until she finally tore a new memory from Thor's own mind and made him see it anew–

_Loki standing before him on a bare stone outcropping and Thor, so superior, so condescending, dismissing every instant of Loki's life with one sentence: _

"_So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights?"_

She saw the way the words slapped Thor, watched as he felt Loki's crushing pain, as the golden, perfect son of Odin finally, genuinely _knew_ what it was to be dismissed and mocked and despised and overlooked, and she closed the box in her mind and released his hand. Thor stumbled back and fell against the empty bed across from her, staring in stunned anguish, tears running down his bearded face. "No, it wasn't… we never meant… it wasn't _like_ that," he whispered, shaking his head, blue eyes wide and shocked as he gazed desperately at her as if begging for reassurance.

"It was exactly like that," Taryn said flatly. She wasn't on Loki's side–this was _her_ world, too, and she wanted neither to rule it nor see it burn–but she had suffered too much from those memories and it only seemed fair for Thor to do the same considering he'd caused so many of them. "And that was merely this life–one of his better lives. Would you like to see some of the worse ones?"

He covered his face with his hands. "He hates me," he said brokenly. "He _hates_ me!"

"Yes," she agreed. "And he has reason." Thor's shoulders shook as he wept, a big man brought low, and she could only hope it was because he truly hadn't intended to hurt Loki as badly as he had. But what was worse, she wondered–to hurt someone on purpose, or to mean the best and still destroy a loved one? She thought the second one. Not that it mattered now–intentional or not, Loki was as he was and Thor bore much of the blame. Nothing would undo that.

"Um. Someone want to tell me what the hell just happened? Because that looked like some kind of psychic voodoo and if there's gonna be psychic voodoo going on, I'd like a heads-up next time so I can set up some sensors and analyze the hell out of it."

Stark's voice was an abrupt reminder that she and Thor weren't the only ones in the room. Fatigue crashed over Taryn and she let her head fall back onto the pillow. "I don't know when Loki's going to try and open the door with the Tesseract," she said to the room at large, suddenly wanting this to be over so she could sleep even though she was the one who'd insisted on doing this now. "I didn't see that–maybe I know it, but if I do, I can't find it. But I do know where he's going to attack. Agent Romanov said there's no central seat of power for the Earth and she's right, but think like an alien." She swallowed with an audible click, wished for more ice-chips, then said, "The United Nations in New York sounds like the sort of thing that he'd be looking for, doesn't it?"

"Shit," Barton said, and Stark echoed him. Then Barton said, "Hey, Mean and Green, what's that?" and Taryn opened her eyes to see Bruce injecting something into her IV.

"It's a sedative," he said after throwing the syringe away. He glared around the room as if daring anyone to protest. "I'm ending this now. Dr. Roswell–Taryn–we really do appreciate your help, but you _have_ to rest or you're going to damage yourself," he said, turning that glare on her. "And I need to redress your wounds and find out how bad you're _already_ damaged. You're going to want to be out for that, believe me. It's going to hurt."

She already felt the sedative taking hold–not that she needed much of a push to fall asleep. "I believe you," she said, or at least she tried to say it, but blackness swirled around her like a warm blanket and sucked her down into sleep, followed by the broken sound of Thor's grief.


	15. The Seducer of Asgard

Darkness. Pressure on her fingers. Soft mist on her face. A band–elastic?–fitted snugly around her head. Something covering her nose and mouth.

And pain twisting in her belly and clawing at her shoulder, but it wasn't… important. No, not important at all. More important to find out what that mist was, but first, how to banish the darkness? Taryn belatedly realized that her eyes were closed. She opened them–the thing on her face was a mask, the softly blown mist was humidified oxygen.

It all came back–Loki, his kisses, his hopes, letting him into her bed and kicking him out. The raid on his underground base. Awakening handcuffed to a bed for the second time.

Fury and the venom. She gasped with sudden fear.

"Hey, hey, hey, take it easy. You're safe."

The deep, smooth voice beside her coincided with a gentle squeeze of her uninjured hand, and that cut through the surge of panic. Taryn looked around and saw–okay, she had to be dreaming, because Tony Stark, billionaire genius and tabloid favorite, sat beside her hospital bed holding her hand and smiling at her. The blue light at the center of his chest was only slightly dimmed by his Black Sabbath tee shirt. She couldn't tear her eyes from it.

_Wow. That's so weird,_ she thought, and wondered why he laughed.

"What, this?" Stark asked, reaching up and tapping at the light showing through the cloth. "Yeah, you could say that, but I prefer the description _frickin awesome_ to _weird_."

Taryn's eyes widened. _How did he know what I was thinking?_ she wondered, stunned.

He laughed again. "Haha, awesome, I knew Bruce gave you the good stuff. You're talking, sweetheart. I'm not reading your mind."

She blinked at him for a second. She'd spoken? "Oh," she said, now realizing that she was indeed saying it. "I guess that's why it doesn't matter much."

He tilted his head, clearly not following her, but still smiling. He had a nice smile, she decided, and when that smile widened, she knew she'd probably said that, too. "Thanks for that, and what doesn't matter much?" he asked.

She closed her eyes. "Pain," she sighed, concentrating on it for a moment. Yes, it was still there, and it did indeed hurt, but she really didn't care. "I really don't care," she added, just in case he wanted to know that. It was almost interesting, examining pain this way. She wondered if Loki had ever tried it, then hoped she hadn't said _that_ aloud.

Apparently she hadn't because he just squeezed her hand again. "You hold onto that, then," he told her. "Unfortunately I think the good stuff is a limited time offer and eventually it'll matter a lot. I'll try to talk Bruce into putting that off for a while, though. You're cute stoned."

The mask was getting annoying. Taryn wanted it off, but she didn't want to retrieve her hand. Doing so would be annoying–in fact, everything was too much trouble. "Everything's too much trouble," she said, feeling like this was information Stark needed, even if he didn't know it.

"Care to be a little more specific?" He sounded even more amused now, but she didn't mind.

Now that she thought about it more, the mask didn't matter, either. It was a strange feeling. Her body could be as uncomfortable as it liked because she was only vaguely attached to it. She opened her eyes again and turned her head, suddenly sure he wouldn't be there this time. Why would Tony Stark be at her bedside, anyway?

"Because I have just a bit of experience dealing with people who are, shall we say, under the influence," he answered, brown eyes sparkling with humor, and Taryn didn't care that she was speaking all her thoughts aloud again. "And sweetheart, you're definitely under the influence. Sounds like it's fun. I'm a little jealous, not gonna lie."

"Can I have a million dollars if I share my next dose?"

He laughed. "Sure, why not? Take a check?"

She smiled at that. "From you, sure." What must it be like to be able to write a check for a million dollars? That led to another thought. "What's it like to be famous?" Taryn asked out of the blue. After all, she was pretty sure she was hallucinating all this, so why not ask?

"If word gets out that you're Loki's girlfriend, you'll get to find out for yourself," Stark replied, and _that_ was an unexpected slap in the face.

Her fuzzy lassitude evaporated and suddenly the pain mattered very much–_everything _mattered. Her kidnapping. The doorway to another world. And Loki. Loki's pain, the betrayal he'd feel at her escape, and all her confusion–it all mattered so much it hurt. She yanked her hand away from Stark's and the movement sent a firebolt through her entire body, almost making her cry out, but that didn't keep her from gasping, "I'm not his girlfriend. I'm not!"

The denial was instinctive and she hoped like hell that it was honest. Loki was a psychopath, he was a murderer, he was a mad god who wanted to subjugate her entire planet–but he was also a desperately lonely man who'd come to her in exhaustion, seeking comfort and expecting to be turned away. A man who'd been tortured in the worst ways imaginable, over and over again. A father whose children had been taken and banished and tormented for no other reason than that they were his. A man who'd seen every hand raised against him and every face turned away, and so had become what they'd all expected more from self-defense than from desire.

"I'm _not!"_ Taryn shouted, clawing at the mask on her face, seized with a wave of panic and claustrophobia so strong it made her want to scream.

"Hey, hey, whoa!" Stark was on his feet now, grasping her hand to prevent her from taking the oxygen mask off. "Hey, I know that, we all know that. It was just a stupid comment, okay? I make 'em all the time, ignore me, all right?" She shook her head, trying to knock the mask off that way, and he let go of her hand so he could catch hold of her head. "Don't do that, you're going to hurt yourself. Just calm down, okay? Look, we all know he's an evil bastard, no one thinks you'd really–"

That sparked a sudden rage in her breast. "What the hell do you know? You don't know _anything,"_ Taryn hissed at him, and she grabbed his hand and shoved a memory into him.

_Loki was a young adolescent, barely past puberty, really, when Odin came to him and told him of the giant's horse. "We bartered Freya, and the sun and moon as well," Odin said, pacing, frowning at his son, "bartered them on an impossible task, and we cannot interfere with the workman. But his stallion helps him build the wall, Loki. It pulls stone day and night without cease, without rest or even food. With its help, he will complete the impossible. Of all of us, you are the only one who can change your form. If you do not distract Svadilfare, we will lose everything." _

_And Loki was so eager to prove his magic useful that he ignored his misgivings and went along with the Allfather's plan–shifting his form to that of a mare in heat, then galloping past the massive stallion to attract his attention, knowing that he had to be fast, had to be clever, had to stay ahead of the stallion, to not be caught–but he _was_ caught, of course he was, no horse was Svadilfare's match, and then the pain! Oh, the tearing, the violation, screaming and fighting and unable to escape, and finally enduring it for the Æsir, holding the cost of losing the sun and moon foremost in his mind while the terrible thing happened, enduring it so others would live, so they would never have to endure anything this horrible. Limping back to Odin when it was done and the pretty mare's head drooped almost to the floor with exhaustion and pain and humiliation, Loki's only comfort that at least he would be praised for ensuring the task would not be completed and the crippling fee would not be paid. _

_But Odin had no praise for him as king, nor comfort as father, and he joined in mocking Loki along with all the Æsir when he announced that Loki was pregnant and forbade him to resume his true form until the foal was born, saying before the entire court of Asgard, "I would have you learn, my son, what the price of magic truly is." Then when the long, long pregnancy and labor were finally done Odin took the eight-legged foal before Loki could reassume his true form to protest the theft of his amazing child–for no matter how it had been gotten, the colt was a wonder: as immortal as the Æsir, as magical and clever as its mother, as strong and swift as its father. And Odin had banished Sleipnir to the stables as though he was a mere horse, the final insult. _

The second prince, ha, what a joke! He is an animal, fit only to bear more animals,_ the Æsir whispered of Loki, and he had to smile as though it didn't matter when they mockingly called him _Seducer of Asgard_, as though he didn't care that the most horrible moment of his young life became a joke to them all, as though it didn't kill him to see the firstborn son who had so much promise reduced to a mere beast of burden, simply the mount of the king…_

_Seducer of Asgard, Loki thought, the words a cancer in his mind, and in revenge he became just that–marking all those who had mocked him or his son and then seducing their wives, their daughters, ruining them because he had been ruined, shaming them because he had been shamed, hating them just as they hated him…_

"Fucking _shit!"_ Stark nearly screamed, tearing his wrist away from her and staring at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted fangs and bit.

Taryn fell panting against the bed, her entire body burning now, belatedly remembering that magic had a physical cost. But it was a cost she was willing to pay. Loki had been mocked enough by those who had no understanding. She couldn't change that, but she prevent this much, at least. "He wasn't always an evil bastard, Mr. Stark. Once, there was good in him," she whispered, all her sudden energy now gone. "But they murderedit. They_ murdered _it and now he's ruined."

Stark rubbed his wrist with a shaking hand. "Is that what you did to Thor?"

She lifted her shoulder in a shrug–forgot it was broken–made a strangled groan at the grinding of bone on bone. "Sort of," she choked out, "but more."

"Shit. _More_ than getting raped by a huge fucking horse?"

"Not that one–that one is Odin's, if I ever see him. I gave Thor everything that was his," Taryn said wearily. "I gave him everything that was his fault. That's all."

Stark's voice was hushed, horrified. "How… how much is that?"

Taryn closed her eyes to hide the shine of tears in them. "More than a thousand years in this lifetime."

She opened her eyes again and met Stark's stunned gaze. "There's so much more," she said, so sad at the waste, and wishing she could have the fuzzy disconnection of the drugs back. "He's suffered enough to drive every person in Asgard mad. You don't know anything about Loki, Mr. Stark, so don't pretend that you do."

He held her gaze, slowly shaking his head. "You weren't joking, were you." It wasn't a question. "You do know everything about him."

Taryn rested her head back on the pillow. "I understand him," she sighed. "That's why he took me. That's what he wanted–just one person who would understand him. But that doesn't mean I'm on his side," she added, knowing this had to be said. "I'm not. He's had a horrible life, but that doesn't excuse what he's done or what he's planning to do and can I have some more drugs now?"

Stark finally smiled again even though he still looked pale and a bit shaky. "Now that, _I _can understand. I'll run and get Bruce, but only if you give me your word that you won't give him a Loki injection like that. Believe me, it would be a bad idea for everyone involved. He's not as harmless as he seems."

She didn't have the energy to pursue that intriguing clue. "I don't have the power to do it again now even if I wanted to," Taryn said, closing her eyes once more. "I won't, Mr. Stark. You have my word."

"You know, considering all we've just shared, I really think you can call me Tony," he said, and she smiled a little. "Okay, be right back with the good doctor. Don't go anywhere."


	16. A New Plan

**Thanks to all of you for the very kind reviews on the last chapter! Yes, that story broke my heart too. I can't read Norse mythology anymore without just aching for Loki. No, I'm not saying that's where the "Seducer of Asgard" name definitely came from-the myths don't say that-but he took a ton of shit and had no one on his side. I really don't see how they can be surprised that he went from mischief to evil.**

**Also in the comments, several of you mentioned that you're DYING to get Loki's reaction to all this-just wait until next chapter, okay? I promise it's coming! I hope everyone had a fantastic holiday and is excited about the new year. I'm sitting in front of a roaring fire right now, writing the next chapter, and if all goes well, I'm hoping to have it up before 2013 rolls in. Wish me luck!**

.

When Tony returned with Bruce Banner and Steve Rogers in tow, Taryn's pain had receded again to a bearable level. She wasn't sure if it was because she was no longer upset or if the IV was giving her medication on a timer, but she was grateful for it.

She was less grateful to see Thor enter behind them.

Apparently it showed on her face, because his smile faltered and then died. "I would speak to you of my brother again, if it would not cause you undue distress." His voice was quiet, almost subdued, but his shockingly blue eyes were determined. Banner glanced at him with a little frown and Thor added, "After the good healer has given his permission, of course."

Taryn made another mental note–_beeping watch causes everyone to freeze, Stark says he's not as harmless as he looks, he's able to cow a _god _with a mere look–_Bruce Banner was quite the puzzle. She wondered if she'd be allowed to solve it. But right now there were more important things to concentrate on, she conceded reluctantly, and pushed her curiosity to the back of her mind. "I promised that I would help you stop him in any way that I can," she said. "I will answer all your questions."

"But first, I'd imagine you'd like a few answers of your own," Bruce said before Thor could start his interrogation. "What do you remember of what happened to you during the raid?"

Fury had asked her the same question but Taryn had been to frightened and in too much pain to really think about it. She took a moment to do so now, grateful that she was allowed to take her time. Finally she replied, "I heard the attack begin and thought I could escape during the confusion. I'd just made it to the main work space when there was some kind of grenade–I think it's called a flashbang? Whatever it was, it disoriented me and knocked out my hearing."

"Yes, we were using those," Steve confirmed with a nod. "It's a nonlethal way of subduing people."

Taryn remembered the way her head had spun, so dizzy and confused she could hardly string two thoughts together after the explosion. "Well, it works," she said dryly. "By the time I remembered that I should really be trying to get away, Loki's chief of security had recovered and made his way over to me. He picked me up and started to carry me away from the fighting. I tried to fight my way free of him but he was too strong and I was too scrambled, but then he suddenly dropped me–I think that's when I hurt my arm?" The inflection made it a question and she glanced at Bruce.

"Fractured your humerus just below the shoulder," he confirmed. "You have a hairline fracture of the collarbone as well, not serious, though."

"Then it felt like someone punched me in the back and I passed out," Taryn finished. Again she looked at Bruce. "Fury said I'd been shot."

"You were," he said, and even though she'd heard Fury say it, having it confirmed made her heart lurch. Bruce reached out and squeezed her hand reassuringly. Despite the way the rest of them reacted like he was something extremely dangerous, Taryn found his brown eyes and gentle smile soothing. "There's good news and bad news. Which do you want first?"

"The good," she said after a moment. She was running low on good news lately.

Bruce nodded. "All right. Fury and his minions must have done some emergency surgery on you when you first got here and that minimized the permanent damage. The bullet missed your spine and all your major blood vessels. And you can have a perfectly normal life once you're healed up."

Taryn bit her lip. Despite all that, she had a feeling there was a significant _but_ in there somewhere. "And the bad news?"

His smile turned sympathetic. "I'm afraid that we're going to have to do another surgery very soon, Taryn. They did fine work on you, but I've been monitoring your blood levels and there's nothing I can do. You're going to lose a kidney." She gasped and he squeezed her hand again. "The bullet went right through it. You're lucky you didn't bleed out. They tried to save it but it's failing, and if I leave it much longer, it could necrose and cause a much bigger problem. Better to take it out first, and plenty of people live long, healthy lives with just one kidney. It could have been much worse," he said, still giving her that gentle smile. "And I know that doesn't help much. I'm sorry."

"Fury's a fuckstick," Tony growled, the only voice in the suddenly silent room. "He's a shit sucking donkey cock bitch and I'm gonna have JARVIS hack into his accounts and make him really miserable as soon as I'm back within reach of my toys."

"JARVIS?" Taryn asked at the same moment that Steve snapped, "Language, Stark!"

Tony ignored him. "My artificial intelligence program," he answered Taryn. "He can do nasty things in cyberspace that you wouldn't believe, and he doesn't give a shit how high Fury's security clearance is, no one's safe from him." This was said with a darkly gleeful smile that made Taryn glad he hadn't taken more offense at her, to use his phrase, _Loki injection._ "Trust me, sweetheart, he's not walking away from this one unscathed."

Steve's frown deepened. "Didn't anyone ever teach you to respect women?" he scolded. "You've just met the lady! I think _sweetheart_ is a bit forward, not to mention your language."

Tony grinned, not a bit chagrined. "Hey, she's a gorgeous redhead, you expect me not to notice? C'mon, _me?_" Taryn blushed–really, getting complimented by the world's biggest playboy was enough to make anyone blush, even just after being told that she was going to have a major organ removed–and he winked lasciviously at her before turning that mocking smile back to Steve. "Or maybe you're jealous, is that it? Yeah, I admit you saw her first, but you snooze, you lose, Capsicle."

"What about Pepper?" Steve asked.

Tony shrugged. "I can look all I want, she doesn't mind. Besides, she knows I've got a thing for redheads. She won't be surprised."

Steve shot him a quelling look that had about as much impact as a water pistol against a charging rhino. "I don't suppose anyone's told you where you are yet, ma'am," he said with the air of one bringing a conversation back on topic.

"No," Taryn said, her brain whirling as it tried to process everything. It was shocking to realize that she'd been so distracted by everything else that she hadn't even had time to wonder where she'd been taken. "This looks like a ship, at least from what I saw when you carried me here," she added, glad both that she was starting to function again and that she had something to concentrate on besides Bruce's pronouncement.

Tony nodded. "It's a helicarrier–an aircraft carrier that flies. At this point classified status doesn't mean a whole lot," he added when Steve's frown turned into a full-fledged scowl.

"Yeah, she already knows pretty much everything there is to know about our super-classified enemy," Bruce agreed.

Tony spread his hands. "Exactly. After spending a few days with Thor's little brother and his magical jazz-hands, a flying aircraft carrier is probably small potatoes."

She wasn't sure about that but chose not to argue. "Where are you taking me?"

"You're free to go at any time," Steve replied. "But we'd like to ask you not to, please. This is a global threat and we sure could use your help."

"Of course," Taryn said quickly, then bit her lip. "As long as that Fury guy isn't the one doing the questioning–I'd be happy never to see him again. But I'm not all that eager for Loki to track me down again, either."

At that, Thor spoke up at last. "Do you think that he will try?"

"Yes." She didn't even have to think about it.

Thor crossed his massive arms and held her gaze for a long moment. Then, sighing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small glass vial. "Take this, then," he said, holding it out to her.

Taryn recognized the glowing green potion inside immediately. His eyebrows rose as she took it without hesitation. "You know what this is?" he asked.

She nodded. "Loki gave me one when I regained consciousness after he kidnapped me," she said. "I was ill from the aftereffects of his magic…" Her voice trailed off, unsure how to verbalize her surprise that Thor would give her such a thing after she'd inflicted all Loki's pain and hatred on him.

Apparently he was wrestling with surprise, too. "I would never have thought he would share such a treasure," Thor murmured, almost as though unaware he was speaking aloud. Then he looked up and met her eyes. "It would not have been easy for him to procure. These are rare and very valuable, and Loki has never been known for his generosity."

She wanted to argue that–she had plenty of memories of Loki giving gifts, things he'd fought and bled for, not least that hammer hanging at Thor's side–but forced that aside. "Why are you giving it to me?"

"And what is it?" Banner asked. "Because I'm suspicious of glowing green things, just so you know."

Thor ran a hand through his long hair. "It is a potion brewed by Lady Eir herself, the finest of Asgard's healers," he explained to the room at large. "It will heal any wound or ailment. Taryn Roswell, my brother has wronged you, and while I cannot undo that wrong, I can offer this, at least, to mend your hurts. Please accept this small gift in thanks for the aid you have offered our cause." He looked away briefly, but then held her gaze again. "And for showing me how my actions have harmed my brother," he added softly, painfully.

Taryn found her throat suddenly tight. Those blue eyes were shadowed with genuine pain, but beneath them she saw determination and, shockingly, _love._ Despite Loki's rejection, despite the memories showing how much he hated Thor, despite his attack on the world Thor had claimed for his own and lavished so much affection upon, Thor still loved his brother. How did Loki not see that? Because he didn't–that much she was sure of. He felt so alone, utterly abandoned. It would never, ever have occurred to him that Thor still held him in his heart.

If only she had some way to tell Loki! But he likely wouldn't believe it, not even from her. Instead of trying to force thanks through her constricted throat, she nodded to Thor and drank the little potion gratefully. The cool wave spread through her as it had days ago in Loki's bunker, but this time the process took longer. Tingling pressure settled over every wound, but especially in her low back, just where her kidney would be–the gunshot wound. When it receded, it took all her pain with it, and the haziness of the drugs as well.

Now she could speak. Meeting Thor's haunted gaze directly without trying to hide the grateful tears in her eyes, she said, "Thank you. And I am sorry for hurting you, earlier. I… I believe I may have misjudged you."

Thor bowed his head. "I fear you did not," he murmured. "But I am glad to have been of service to you."

Suddenly claustrophobic again, Taryn began to undo the velcro straps holding her formerly broken arm in place. After a moment, Bruce reached out to help her. Within minutes all her bandages were gone. When Bruce pulled the bandage from her back, he just stared at the smooth, unmarked skin for a long disbelieving moment before finally saying, "We really need to lay in a supply of those things. That's amazing."

"Yeah, says the guy who can't get hurt," Tony quipped, but he was also staring wide-eyed at her back. Taryn self-consciously tugged the gown back down and at her movement, Tony looked up with a wicked grin. "Aww, did you have to do that? I was enjoying the view!"

Taryn's cheeks heated but she was starting to realize that Stark's flirtation, while flattering, was completely harmless. Steve slapped the back of the billionaire's head. "Behave," he growled.

Bruce snorted. "That'll be the day."

Taryn swung her legs out of bed, stretched expansively and reveled in the lack of pain. "God, that's so much better," she groaned, letting her arms drop back down. Then she looked at the men before her one by one. "What's the plan now? What can I do to help you more?"

Steve scratched his chin as he thought. The others deferred to him, allowing him time to answer. Finally he replied, "We're on our way to New York now. Hopefully we'll find Loki before he has time to cause much chaos. You said you have his memories and you understand him. Can you give us any more details about his invasion force or the bridge he's planning to open to bring them here? Is there anything we could offer him, any way to negotiate with him to prevent this altogether?"

"I'm not sure. Let me think," she said, already beginning to search through the memories. But even as she did so, she had to fight the feeling that she was betraying Loki by helping his enemies–even though they had saved her from torture, even though they were fighting to save her very planet, part of her still hesitated.

The thought of hurting him upset her. And the fact that she gave the tiniest of damns about Loki's feelings made Taryn want to bang her head against the wall. If only that would get his memories _out_ of there, before they further compromised her already-dented good sense.

Before the cost of understanding Loki became higher than she could bear to pay.

And that thought slapped her with the only thing that might have a chance of working. She closed her eyes, took a deep, shuddering breath, but nothing changed. It was still the only answer she could see.

"You have nothing to offer him," she finally said, forcing the words past suddenly numb lips. "But I might." Taryn opened her eyes, met Stark's. "Let me talk to him first. Let me try to reach him."

The others immediately protested, telling her all the reasons that was a terrible idea, but Stark just held her steady gaze. She wondered if he was thinking of that memory she'd given him. She hoped he was–hoped he realized now, on a visceral level that no words could ever convey, just how deeply she knew Loki.

"You got it," Stark said at last, his calm voice effectively silencing the others as they all stared at him in shock. "I'll fly you myself. How much time do you need?"

"Tony, what are you–"

"You can't just–"

"–returning her to my brother would–"

"An hour?" Taryn replied, ignoring the others just as Stark did. "More if I can have it."

"You probably can't," Tony replied, raising his voice a little to be heard over the uproar. "An hour's actually stretching it. But I'll give you as much time as I can. My jet will reach New York ahead of anything SHIELD has to offer. If we leave now, you should get close to an hour before the cavalry arrives."

"You can't seriously mean to drop her in Loki's lap without any protection!" Steve finally managed to make himself heard over the din.

Stark shrugged. "I'll be there with my suit. If things go bad, she can have JARVIS call me."

"That is slim comfort, Anthony Stark," Thor said, fists clenching and unclenching as though aching for something to punch. "If my brother chooses to harm her, your suit will avail you little."

"He won't hurt me," Taryn said quietly. Finally the room fell silent as every gaze fixed on her, caught by the surety in her voice. She felt her cheeks heat but didn't drop her eyes. "He won't. That's one thing I'm absolutely certain about."

Steve held her gaze for a long time before finally sighing. His shoulders drooped. "And you can convince him to put a stop to this invasion? You're really confident of that?"

Taryn spread her hands. "I won't lie and say I'm sure of it," she replied. "But I _am_ sure that none of you have a chance in hell of talking him out of it. I want to try." She met each of their eyes in turn. "I want to try," she repeated softly, letting all her determination show in her gaze. "I may not be a superhero, but it's my planet, too."

The silence held for a long moment. Then Stark broke it by clapping his hands. "Well! If this is the plan, we gotta get it in gear, there's no time to waste," he said briskly. "I'll prep the jet while you get dressed. There's gotta be something you can wear somewhere on this flying monstrosity. Not that you don't look fabulous in the hospital gown, sweetheart," he added, grinning at her and dropping an outrageous wink, "but I don't think you want to fly across the world with your ass hanging out. Shame, too, since it's such a nice ass."

Romanov stepped forward and gave her a quick, appraising look. "I believe we are near the same size," she said after a moment. "I will lend you some jeans and a blouse."

"Damn," Stark sighed, clapping a hand over his arc-reactor. "You lucky girl, Taryn. I've been trying to get into her pants for years."


	17. The Offer

**Yeah, so I thought this would be up a while back, but... well... yeah, pick an excuse. Anyway! It's time for Loki to react to Taryn's capture, bwahaha... I hope you enjoy it and I love all of you for your reviews!**

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Taryn took a deep breath for courage and forced her feet not to pause, nor her eyes to raise to take in the full, intimidating height of Stark Tower. For all that she'd wanted speed, now that she was actually here, she wished the journey had taken longer… hours longer, days, months.

"You asked for this," she whispered to herself, and it was nothing but the truth. Truth didn't make the words taste any better on her tongue, though, and for all her resolve, she halted before the enormous glass doors with her heart in her throat.

Tony Stark had been good as his word. His jet, a sleek black thing that looked like a cross between a plane and a crouching panther, had outdistanced the Helicarrier within seconds (and how she had gaped at the sight of that enormous ship _flying!_). Moments later, it had left the Quinnjet behind as if it were standing still instead of itself zooming at Mach Impossible toward New York. Yet for all its speed, Stark's jet had been utterly silent.

"It's because of the drive," Tony had told her when she'd remarked upon it, and had gone on to give her an explanation that explained nothing to her–but then again, she wasn't a genius engineer. To his credit, he'd only spoken for a few moments before realizing she was lost and breaking off with a grin too charming to pass for sheepish. "Yeah, well, suffice it to say that it's about a decade ahead of state-of-the-art. NASA would get down on their knees and blow me for the specs," he'd said with a wicked twinkle in his eye. "And if NASA would blow me, you can just _imagine_ what the military would do."

The quiet, smooth ride had been good for meditation. It was something Bruce had suggested in the moments they'd waited while Stark readied his futuristic jet and Natasha found her something to wear. "Don't try to force the memories to come, and don't search them," he'd told her, holding her gaze with his warm, sad brown eyes. "Just clear your mind and let whatever surfaces come."

"But we _need_ to know more about his plans, and it's all in there somewhere!" Taryn had protested.

Bruce just took her hand and smiled. "Some part of you already knows," he'd said with quiet assurance. "What you need to know will come. Just be still and let it." Then Natasha had returned and he'd kissed her cheek, and she'd looked into that gentle face creased by all the cares of the world, and those sad eyes, and realized she might never see him again…

… and if any thoughts had no place here, these topped the list. Taryn shook her head sharply to bring herself back to the present. Tony had said she'd have "just about an hour" before the Quinnjet arrived with its load of heroes, so she had no business standing around out here wasting a second of it. Taryn squared her shoulders, climbed the white steps to the doors, and entered the forbidding glass fortress as though she had every right to do so.

No one gave her more than a cursory glance as she crossed the crowded lobby. Stark Industries maintained many offices here, and although her jeans and fitted blouse were more casual than most, she didn't stand out. It was only when she bypassed the public elevators on her way to one half-hidden behind several columns that a man in a fine business suit stopped her.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but I'll have to ask you to use the main elevators at the center of the lobby," he said, smiling in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "This elevator is private."

He might have been wearing a suit that cost more than her monthly salary, but from the thickness of his neck and the breadth of his shoulders, Taryn knew this was no businessman. "JARVIS is expecting me," she told the security guard, continuing her steady pace.

He frowned and reached out to grab her arm, but a cultured British voice issued from radio secreted in some hidden pocket of his jacket, saying, "Indeed I am. Welcome to Stark Tower, Professor Roswell. Mr. Fitzhugh, if you would be so good as to show her to Mr. Stark's elevator at once," and his whole manner changed.

"I beg your pardon, Professor. Right this way," he said, ushering her past a discretely concealed camera and another Armani-suited guard. The elevator doors slid open just as they reached them. "Shall I escort you?"

"That will not be necessary, Mr. Fitzhugh," JARVIS replied before Taryn could speak. "Thank you." And the doors slid shut on his curiosity.

Taryn slumped against the wall as soon as the doors hid her from sight. "Is Loki up there, JARVIS?" she asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear the voice again. She was all nerves right now and the AI's voice was soothing.

"I am sorry, Professor, but I am unable to discuss happenings in the penthouse," JARVIS replied, and that was an answer in itself, especially since she'd heard Stark instruct the AI to answer all her questions and give her any aid she required.

But then another thought struck her. "Will you be able to send a distress call to Mr. Stark if I am in trouble?"

There was a heartbeat's pause before JARVIS gave her the reply she'd dreaded. "I am most terribly sorry, Professor. I will be unable to discuss happenings in the penthouse even with Mr. Stark."

Then something odd happened. Instead of heightening her anxiety and turning it to terror, JARVIS's words had the opposite effect. Taryn's pulse slowed and her hands stopped trembling as an almost unnatural calm descended over her. A fragment of a movie echoed through her mind–_I must face him alone, that's the way it is done; well if that is the way it is done, then that is the way you must do it–_and she almost smiled. Unlike the heroine in that movie, she wouldn't have a troop of true friends waiting just outside for her call.

But Loki wouldn't hurt her. Everything else was confusion and doubt, but not that. Loki hung too many hopes on her to ever harm her. She was probably safer than anyone else in the entire city while she was with him.

"Oh, well," she sighed, watching the numbers climb on the elevator display. "At least I know that in advance."

"Professor, if you will permit me to offer a word of advice, if you were to make a request for aid _outside_ the penthouse," JARVIS said unexpectedly, "perhaps from the balcony, or within the elevator, I might be able to relay your message."

"Good to know," Taryn replied, but she couldn't depend on Stark to save her. In fact, if this went the way she was hoping it would, she'd never see Stark again.

Too soon, the elevator slid to a smooth stop and the doors opened. Taryn looked across the immaculate living area, the floor-to-ceiling glass filling one entire wall and opening out to a blindingly white balcony, the long bar to one side and a few discretely recessed doors to the other. She saw sleek couches, and glass-and-chrome tables and barstools, and minimalist modern art on the walls, and plush white rugs… she saw sunlight shining off New York's skyscrapers, the clear blue sky kissed with puffy white clouds, and a raised dais outside without a railing…

She saw everything, in fact, except Loki.

But he was here–she was certain of it. Taryn stepped into the penthouse. "Good luck, madam," JARVIS murmured quietly just before the elevator doors slid closed behind her.

When she reached the center of the room, she stopped and rested her hand on the back of a white leather sofa. "Loki," she said, calling his name not as a question, but with assurance.

And in a swirl of green, suddenly he was there. Tall and intimidating in his armor, cape, and horned helmet, Loki appeared from nothing beside the bar and bowed. "Lovely girl," Loki said, giving her a smile that was all teeth. "How wonderful of you to join me. Forgive me for not being here to welcome you at once. I confess, I wasn't expecting you quite so early."

His utter lack of surprise to see her grated. She started to point out that he should've expected her to still be safely ensconced in her underground cell with Hassan and his guards; she nearly asked whether or not he even knew that his base had been raided, but then she remembered who she was dealing with. Taryn cocked her head, examining his eyes as she said, "Hassan must have been starting to resist the mind control. The others, were they the same?"

Loki raised an eyebrow and his smile broadened, but that was the only change to his expression. "As clever as she is lovely," he laughed, nodding. "Go on, my dear."

Now she was getting angry. Not for her captors–she should have been enraged on their behalf, for they'd been just as imprisoned as she, but she couldn't quite muster anger for them–but for Loki's coldness and scheming. "Did you plan for all of them to die?" she asked, fists clenching.

"They didn't matter either way," he replied with a shrug. "Their job was to see you to safety, and they did so in the end. Alive or dead makes no difference to me."

"Safety." It was all she could do not to snarl the word.

"Of course," Loki said, still smiling. "That underground base was quite a prize. I was not the only one who coveted it. After I left, I was certain it would be raided by one villain or another, so I simply made sure that the so-called _heroes _got there to rescue you first. After all, where could you be safer than with SHIELD, on that monstrous flying fortress of theirs? I confess I'd hoped you'd be there by the time I escaped, but alas, they moved more slowly than I'd imagined. Still, no matter, eh?" He leaned against the bar, hands resting easily on the marble edge beside his hips. "I confess I am surprised that they didn't delay your departure a bit more." Then he winked. "Or are a few more of your new SHIELD friends waiting to jump out of the elevator and ambush me?" He laughed.

That laugh pushed her over the edge. Taryn strode across the suite and slapped him across the face, hard as she could. He didn't block the blow although she knew he easily could have–nor did he lose his smile. Two of her fingers had hit his helmet instead of his cheek and her entire hand screamed pain as if she'd slapped the marble bar instead of flesh, but she didn't regret the slap. "Did you also plan for SHIELD to shoot me in the back and torture me, or did that also _make no difference _to you?"

And _now _Loki's smile finally vanished, along with every trace of humor from his eyes. _"What." _The single word hissed sharply from abruptly white lips.

"You heard me, you son of a bitch," she snarled, raising her hand to hit him again–her hand was already throbbing from the first time, and she was fairly certain the two fingers that had slammed into his helmet were broken, but her rage didn't care if she broke every bone in her arm so long as she made him hurt, too.

This time he caught her mid-swing, fingers tight around her wrist, and spun her around. She hadn't yet caught her balance before his other hand raked her shirt up in back so abruptly she heard cloth rip. Cold fingers splayed over her skin, searching. "I see no wound," he grated, voice tight as his grip… but he wasn't hurting her wrist, merely holding it still. His exploring hand was also gentle despite his anger, and she thought, _He truly won't hurt me_ and _I'm lucky for that, with what I'm planning._

"Thanks to your brother," Taryn said, fighting to pull her shirt back down with her free hand. "He gave me one of Eir's potions to heal my wounds."

Loki spun her back around to face him, and his face burned with cold wrath. "I will kill them all," he said, his tone leaving no doubt that this was a vow. "I will kill them slowly and savor their screams. _No one _harms what is mine!"

Taryn raised an eyebrow, mocking. "But I'm not yours, Loki. You released me. I'm no longer your prisoner and I'm sure as hell not your lady love. You have no claim on me at all."

Loki stared down at her, his face blank but for his burning, furious eyes. "Yet here you are. My people have returned you to my keeping," he said, lips curling in a smirk. "Just as I planned."

"No," she countered, making a mental note that Loki had people inside SHIELD, and wondering if she gave enough of a damn to tell them that. "Your people didn't do shit, and I'm here by my own plan. Not yours."

Loki released her at that and Taryn stepped back, glad to put a little distance between them. While he hadn't been holding her in a sexual way, she still found it distracting being pressed right up against him. "So tell me about this plan of yours," he said, his casual stance belied by his white-knuckled grip on the edge of the marble bar. "I am all ears, darling."

Taryn took a deep breath, reaching for the calm she'd found in the elevator. Shockingly, she found it–she hadn't expected to, not this soon after losing her temper so spectacularly, but there it was. Loki waited while she breathed slowly, letting the calm fill her, washing her anger away, until she could finally speak without her voice trembling from either temper or nerves. "I am here to offer you a deal."

Loki raised an amused eyebrow. "Oh, indeed?" he said, smiling again, but not as carelessly as he had before she'd told him what she'd suffered. Anger still burned in his eyes–banked for now, true, but an ember that could flare to life at any time all the same. "And what have you been told to offer me, hmm? Peace between humanity and I, a lasting friendship, an alliance? I have no use for that. Or perhaps it was Stark who masterminded this rather than your world's governments? Did he give you wealth to dangle before me, or knowledge, or power? Wealth I do not require, power I already possess, and what pitiful knowledge he could barter I have stolen merely by taking his stronghold. Tell me, darling, what can they offer that I cannot simply take by force?"

And Taryn raised her empty hands. "Me."


	18. Absolutes

_Me._

The single word echoed in Loki's ears. Staring at her standing there so proud and so totally unafraid of him did something dangerous to his equilibrium. It was the last thing he needed because he was already struggling to keep his balance after the revelation that his plan for her to await his triumph safely in SHIELD custody had so spectacularly backfired.

… _shot in the back and tortured… _

A thousand years of memories assaulted him when she'd spoken those words and hadn't yet released him. Oh, Loki knew torture, he knew pain and torment and helplessness, he knew more ways to break a body and crush a soul than any ten generations of mortals put together, and that knowledge itself tortured him now. What had they _done_ to her? She wouldn't tell him–he saw that in her eyes, steady and unyielding, but that only meant that his imagination was free to fill in the blanks. That cursed, hated word throbbed with his heartbeat, tormenting him, enraging him.

… _tortured… tortured… tortured…_

And on the heels of that, now she offered the one thing at which he could not scoff. Grasping desperately for balance, for the cool intellect that had always served him so well but had now been scattered to the four winds, Loki bluffed as best he could. "You, for an entire world?" he said, but it didn't come out scathing. It came out winded, as though he'd been punched in the stomach. Perhaps she wouldn't notice, or would take it for another trick. He pressed on–it was all he could do. "You value yourself highly, my lady."

Taryn shrugged, standing before him in black jeans and a white button-down blouse, as regal as any queen in silks. The hem he'd torn hung unevenly in the back. The sight of it brought back the warmth of her smooth, unmarked skin beneath his hand, the softness… again, he wrenched his thoughts back from temptation, and just in time to hear her reply. "No, Loki, I don't. But you do." And she said it with perfect confidence, utterly assured that she was correct.

And she _was_, damn it! Loki stared at her, mind working sluggishly when he needed it to race, to find a bridge between two contradictory absolutes.

He needed the Earth so he could present the Tesseract to the Chitarui–that was absolute. They would never stop hunting him if he did not deliver on his end of the bargain they'd struck.

And he needed Taryn to save him from another endless life of misery and pain–he could not forsake her. _He could not!_

"Speak your terms," he finally rasped, dropping the faux-carelessness. Taryn was too smart and she knew him too well–his own damn fault, giving her those memories–and she would never believe him unaffected. She, too, knew his absolutes.

"You will stop your assault on the Earth," Taryn said calmly. "You will not attack the Earth again in the future, nor incite others to do so. In return…" For the first time, she hesitated, took a deep, steadying breath. Then she met his eyes again. "In return, Loki, I will no longer resist you. I won't ever try to escape you. I'll go wherever you go, and help you in any way I can with anything you ask. I'll understand you, and I'll share your home and your bed." She paused, took a deep breath, and finished, "I will choose you, Loki, and stay with you until the end of my human life."

Every word shot temptation and exhilaration through his veins, chased with such pain that he almost cried aloud with it, but Loki couldn't stop himself from pressing. "And love, Taryn?" he asked, knowing he shouldn't but unable to choke the words back. "Will you love me?"

She spread her hands, a helpless gesture. "I can't promise love," she said, and although he'd expected her honesty, it still cut him. "But I will try. I… you know there's a physical attraction between us already, and it might be possible that I could love you someday if you treat me well and–and stop killing. I can't promise more than that."

But by the Tree, that was more than enough. Her stipulations were less than nothing–he could no more treat her badly than he could uproot Yggdrasil, and if not killing was the price of her heart, he would pay gladly and never regret it.

Not that it made the blindest bit of difference. He _needed_ the Earth, and he _needed _her, and if there was a way to have both, he couldn't see it.

_Cursed Norns, _Loki thought viciously, spinning around and slamming both hands down on the marble bar. In that moment, he hated the three Fates more than he ever had before. _You damned holy interfering bitches!_ To present Taryn to him like this, so close and yet so very far out of his reach!

If he chose Taryn, the Chitauri would forfeit their prize and would never stop hunting him, and she would almost positively be injured or killed in their bloodthirsty revenge. But if he chose the Chitauri's way and conquered the Earth to claim the Tesseract, the only way Taryn would ever stay with him was if he used the mind-control power of his scepter on her–and that was _not enough, damn it!_ He squeezed his eyes shut, still trying to invent a way around this.

There was one surety no matter what he decided, and that was that the Tesseract _would_ open the portal. Not even Loki could stop that now. The device Selvig had created could not be shut off at this point. The doorway would open and the army would come through, but what happened next was up to Loki.

If he chose to use the Chitauri army to conquer the Earth, Loki's victory would finally prove that he was a force to be reckoned with, a power Asgard couldn't ignore, a true warrior not just despite his magic but because of it. Ruling his own realm would put him on equal standing with Odin in Asgard. He'd finally free from his not-father's terrible power. And not least, the deal he'd made with the Chitauri would be satisfied, thereby freeing him from that dire obligation and the threat of endless torment it carried.

But if he sent the army back and chose Taryn, what then? Yes, he would have the understanding and devotion he craved, but practical issues had to be considered as well. For the most basic of those, where would they go? He could walk the pathways of Yggdrasil as no other ever could, but he immediately rejected the thought of forcing Taryn to follow him on an endless, homeless path through the realms. No, somehow Loki would find a safe place for them to live, perhaps on Vanaheim, or Alfheim. Norns knew either realm held those who owed him favors not easily repaid. He could trade on those to create a home for them. His fingers curled into fists as he imagined a real _home_–a place of safety, of laughter, a place where Taryn welcomed him into her arms and into her bed, where she tried her best to love him.

And not because he'd used the power of his scepter to make her so. No, she would be with him because she'd chosen him. Loki's knuckles ached but he couldn't seem to open his fists. The last person who'd chosen him had been Odin, and it hadn't been for any merit of Loki's–it had been as a hostage of war, a thing to be raised and brainwashed and used. But Taryn… she had his memories, she knew his mind as no other ever had or would again, and she would go with him and stay with him of her own free will.

The temptation… it was almost more than he could bear.

"If you choose me," Loki rasped, still seeking a way to have both, "I will make of the Earth a gift to you, and the Sun and Moon as well. They will shine only at your command. The world will be yours to control."

"Oh, Loki."

He heard her move, drew a slow breath as she hesitantly put a hand on his tight forearm. Just that small touch froze him. _No one should have such power over me,_ he thought fiercely, but it didn't seem to make a difference. His head was filled with memories of that other life, that other Loki and Taryn and the love they'd shared which had changed everything, and he wanted that peace and happiness desperately. "The world will be yours. I give you my word upon it," he whispered, and finally opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her brown eyes seemed deep enough to drown in. "I don't want to rule the world," Taryn replied softly. "So many people would have to die to–"

But Loki was speaking before she could complete the thought. "As you will," he said, his voice utterly calm in contrast to the storm raging inside him. He should've known she wouldn't agree to that. Perhaps he didn't know her as deeply as she knew him, but he had hundreds of years of memories of her other life and that Taryn would never have agreed to rule her homeworld in chains. It had been a foolish thing to offer.

And then his gaze fell upon the hand she still rested on his arm. It was small, delicate, and wounded. Her smallest and ring fingers were crooked and bruising.

… _tortured… tortured… tortured…_

But in the next instant, he knew SHIELD wasn't to blame–Thor had healed all the damage they'd done. This, he realized, had to have happened when she'd slapped him and half hit the metal of his cheekguard. He abruptly tore off his helmet and threw it one-handed against the wall hard enough to crack it. Taryn recoiled from the unexpected violence and Loki held out his hand to her. "Give me your hand," he said impatiently when she didn't seem to understand what he wanted. "You're injured."

Taryn bit her lip–made him want to bite it himself. "It's nothing," she started to refuse, but stopped when he glared at her and hesitantly put her wounded hand in his.

"They're broken," he growled furious that anything of his had hurt her. He lifted her hand to his mouth, then parted his lips and took both fingers inside. She gasped but not from pain as he swirled his tongue over the delicate fingers, letting his magic surround and penetrate them. Slowly he drew her fingers out of his mouth again, whole and undamaged, and he swallowed her brokenness and pain. "Now it's nothing," he murmured when he was finished. Somehow, unexpectedly, the act of healing her had calmed him.

"Thank you," Taryn said, flexing her newly healed fingers within his grip. "That was kind."

"It wasn't kind," Loki snapped, and he tightened his fingers around hers. "It was a trade. You owe me."

She raised an eyebrow, wary. "I didn't agree to that."

He mimicked the expression. "Do forgive me, dear lady. I can rebreak them for you if you'd prefer," he offered with a mocking little bow.

… _tortured… tortured… tortured…_

Of course it was a lie. He could never bring himself to harm her, but perhaps she didn't know that. "Or you could save yourself the pain and merely grant me two small boons."

She tugged fruitlessly at her hand. "Two, for just one healing?"

"One healing of two fingers," he pointed out, not letting go.

Finally she sighed and bit her lip again. "I'll hear your requests," she said warily, "but I agree to nothing yet."

"I will hold them in reserve for now," Loki said with his most charming smile, even though he already knew what he would ask of her. "But now, you should know that I have made my choice."

Really, it was the only thing he could do. He just hoped he could live with it.


	19. A Choice Made

**Thank you for the lovely reviews! Y'all are so awesome. :D Surprised that no one commented on another cross-over line from After the Fall, tho! Did y'all miss it? Let's see who saw it! *heh* It was fun writing him beating his brain against the brick wall of impossibility, possibly because I am just a mean, mean meanie. As to the reviewer who pointed out that they didn't see a happy ending coming in this one (sorry I didn't write down your name and can't remember now!), you know, I really honestly have no idea whatsoever on that score. I mean, I know some of the things that are going to happen, but Happily Ever After? *shrugs* I do not know.**

**And now for a scene that fought me tooth and nail. Here's hoping I wrestled it into some form of coherence after all that angst! And I cannot WAIT to see what y'all think of this one. Yes, darlings, that's a hint. On with the show!**

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A wave of ice washed over Taryn from head to toe although she tried to keep her sudden fear from showing. She refused to think about all she would lose no matter what he chose–if he went through with his plans for conquest, everything she knew would change and not for the better. But if he chose her, didn't the same apply?

_No, don't think about it,_ Taryn thought fiercely. She _wanted _him to choose her. Sacrificing one person for an entire planet's freedom? Logically, it was the best possible bargain.

It was just getting to the point where that one person was _her_ that was giving her pause.

Loki was watching her so carefully that she wondered how much of her foreboding had shown on her face. She lifted her chin with a confidence she didn't feel. "You've chosen?" she prompted when he continued to merely look at her and showed no sign of speaking.

He nodded and gently, almost lovingly, cupped her cheek in one hand. "I want you," he murmured, and the bottom fell out of her stomach.

"You–you do?"

He laughed at her astonishment. "So surprised, darling? I thought you were trading on that hope. Was I wrong?"

"No!" The word came out too quickly and Taryn's cheeks heated. "I mean, no, of course not," she said more calmly. "I'm just… surprised, that's all. I didn't know which way you'd go. But yes, I am glad."

His smile didn't quite reach his eyes, she suddenly noticed. At almost the same instant, Loki pulled her closer and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. "I pray you enjoy all my surprises so much," he whispered, and then he kissed her.

And there was this about the devil's bargain she'd just made–when Loki kissed her, Taryn couldn't think at all, and no part of her wanted to be anywhere but in his arms with his mouth dominating hers. He could make her forget everything with astonishing swiftness. She didn't fight it. Right now, she wanted to forget everything she was giving up... her life, her home, her world, her freedom.

She'd expected the kiss to go on longer but Loki pulled away after only a bare few seconds. "The so-called superheroes," he murmured against her lips. "They are coming, yes?" She nodded, not fully trusting her voice, and he nipped her lower lip and swept his tongue over the sting before going on, "How long until they arrive?"

Taryn tried to think. It wasn't easy, especially since Loki had backed her up against the bar and was kissing his way across her jaw. "I–I had an hou–oh!" she said, gasping when he suckled her earlobe for a moment before biting it. "When I got here, an hour," she tried again, and now his hand was against the bare skin of her back, fingers restless, as his tongue explored the shell of her ear, and he was doing it again–it was cheating, it wasn't fair, using that other life to know just how to take her apart so effectively. "How long–oh, god–how long have I been here?"

"JARVIS?" Loki said, barely pausing in his explorations, and the AI answered immediately, "Twenty four minutes, madam."

"That gives us just over half an hour," Loki said, and he pulled away from her ear and looked down at her with a wicked smile. "Barely enough time, yet we must make the best of what we are given."

Taryn's head was spinning–oh, he could short-circuit her brain far too easily with that mouth of his, and even though she knew the bitter origin of the name, she couldn't deny that Loki had become the Seducer of Asgard in truth indeed. "Wh–no, you can't mean–here? Now?" she stammered, and he grinned as if delighted by her hesitation.

"Oh, my sweet lady," he murmured affectionately, grasping both her hands and drawing her toward the wall of closed doors. His smile widened. "Shall we use Stark's own bed, hmm?"

Taryn knew she was gaping at him and couldn't stop. Then his last question sank in. "Stark!" she gasped. "He'll arrive before the others–"

"Mr. Stark should arrive in approximately thirty two minutes and fourteen seconds, madam," JARVIS broke in.

Loki waved a hand and a door opened. "No time to waste," he said, and swept her up in his arms before she could react.

But Taryn had regained some of her wits with the pause and pressed a hand against his chest as if that could halt him. She would hate the Avengers to arrive and find her naked in bed with this man they'd declared their enemy. After all, none of them knew exactly what she was planning–Tony might've guessed, but even he wasn't sure. She hadn't thought to ever see them again if Loki chose her. She'd hoped they'd never truly know of her betrayal–they might suspect, Stark especially, but not for sure. It had been one of the very few comforts she had. "But right now?" she protested again as Loki carried her into a bedroom so opulent she had to believe it really was Stark's. "Shouldn't we get away first?"

Loki laid her gently on the bed and traced a fingertip over her cheek. "Give me this time, please," he whispered. "Nothing can be done until they arrive to learn of my decision and I can think of no more pleasant way to await their arrival. I will not allow them to see you, if that is your concern," he added as if just thinking of it. "We will not be, as they say, caught in the act."

Taryn swallowed hard and finally gave in. She'd told him she would share his bed if he chose her, yet here she was, balking right away. "All right," she whispered, and she saw Loki's smile an instant before he kissed her again.

The bed dipped beside her as he joined her on the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. Taryn opened her lips to his questing tongue and shivered as he took the invitation and branded her with his taste and desire. She raised her arms to wrap around his neck and felt not cool leather and cold metal, but soft linen. Peeking briefly confirmed that he'd somehow gotten rid of his intimidating armor and now wore only simple black linen.

But that was all she had time to see because he ran a hand down her side and she abruptly felt the kiss of cool air as her own clothing vanished. "JARVIS, a five minute warning, if you please," Loki said, and then his mouth and hands set to exploring the skin he'd just exposed, and all Taryn could do was gasp and moan.

His fingertips traced tingling patterns over her shoulders, her arms, each hand. Taryn forced her eyes open and saw a faint green light sinking beneath her skin in the wake of his touch. "What's that?" she gasped, half-sitting up as alarm eclipsed her desire, remembering that blue-light haze over the eyes of his mind-controlled minions.

But Loki raised his head from where he'd been licking a path over her collarbone and pressed tender kisses to her jaw, her nose, her temple. "Protective spells," he murmured, "nothing more than protective spells, darling." His lips feathered caresses over her eyelids. "I will not bewitch you, my Taryn, my word upon it," he breathed, "trust me, surrender to me, believe that I will do anything to keep you safe."

And somehow she knew he spoke the truth even before he offered his word. "I trust you," she whispered, more than a little stunned to discover it was true, and she allowed herself to succumb to his sensual spell again.

It seemed there wasn't an inch of her he didn't touch, didn't kiss, didn't trace those runes over and bless. Taryn did her own share of touching, pulling his shirt off and revealing that tightly muscled chest again, discovering that he moaned when she raked her nails over his nipples and swore when she bit him. She was hardly aware of wrapping her legs around him, only realizing it when he pressed hard against her, trembling just as hard as she.

Finally Loki buried his face in her hair, holding her so tight it was just shy of painful, but that was all right because she was holding him just as hard, and he groaned into her hair, "It's not enough, it's not enough, I want more _time,_" in a voice that was nearly a sob and sank into her before she could reply.

Then everything was heat, and glorious friction, straining and reaching for that pinnacle even as she wanted to put off the end as long as possible–but it wasn't possible, surely she couldn't take this much pleasure, but he thrust into her over and over again, taking her higher than she'd ever been before–ecstasy built, overwhelming, and Taryn was digging her nails into his shoulders and her heels into his back and Loki was groaning her name over and over–abruptly it was all too much and her orgasm took her, threw her into the stars and only reluctantly flung her back to Earth into Loki's arms as he came inside her with a cry that sounded of equal parts joy and pain.

It felt like an eternity that they lay together in the aftermath. Taryn held Loki close, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of him still inside her as long as possible, and he rolled so that she was atop him and caressed her hair and her back with a hand that shook. As if she needed more confirmation, that showed her that he was just as affected by the unexpected power of their lovemaking as she'd been. _I can be happy with him,_ Taryn thought, realizing it with a jolt of welcome surprise. _I really can. Thank God for that._

It was JARVIS who broke the spell with a quiet, "Forgive me, sir, but Mr. Stark is on pace to arrive in five minutes."

Taryn finally raised her head from his chest and smiled down at him, but Loki didn't return her smile. He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly before opening his eyes and looking at her again. It looked like he was going to speak, but he didn't. Instead, he pulled her down and kissed her–brief, fierce, possessive, nearly desperate–before releasing her and sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to her.

An instant later, his armor was on once more. Taryn also sat and started to clutch the sheet to her chest when she realized that she was dressed again, too. "That's a neat trick," she said, reaching out to him, but Loki stood before she could touch him. She frowned when he walked to the bedroom door without a backward glance. "Loki?"

He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. "You will be safe if you remain in this room," he said in a low, tight voice, as if he struggled to get the words out.

"Safe?" she echoed, also standing. "Safe from what?"

Loki turned and finally met her gaze. "From the battle, Taryn."

For an instant, she didn't understand. Then realization dawned with a feeling like when she'd been shot in the back. Taryn stared at him wide-eyed, searching his face desperately for any sign that this was a bad joke, seeing none. "I don't–I don't understand," she whispered, but she did understand and all she could do was hope against hope that she was wrong. "What battle?" Maybe she was jumping to conclusions, reading false intentions into his actions–

But Loki looked away as though unable to hold her gaze any longer. "You know what battle, darling." He flexed his hands, looking down at them, then up at the ceiling–anywhere but at her. "My army arrives soon. I will not allow you to be caught in the crossfire. In here, you will not be harmed."

Taryn sat down abruptly on the bed as all the strength left her knees. Her body still felt loose and blissful and sated, making it hard to think, to comprehend what was happening. "But you chose me," she said in a small voice, so confused, still fighting against the soul-deep sense of betrayal. "You chose _me."_

But then she remembered exactly what he'd said. _I've made my choice… I want you._ Not _I choose you_ but _I _want_ you._ It had only been a trick to get her into bed, nothing more. Taryn pressed a hand to her mouth against the bile rising in her throat. She'd never imagined such humiliation. "You lied to me," she choked out, feeling as though there wasn't enough air in the room. "You made me come to you like a whore and then you _lied._"

Loki's fists clenched and his face tightened as if she'd struck him. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Taryn beat him to it. "Don't you _dare _say you spoke the truth," she hissed, surging to her feet, furious enough to wish she had some means to hurt him as he'd hurt her, and if there had been any weapon in that room she'd have used it on him without hesitation. She'd never been so angry. Her ears rang with it and tears of rage welled in her eyes. She dashed them impatiently away. "But hey, at least you got what you wanted from me, right? The whore put out and you got laid before your big battle. Good for you."

His gaze shot to hers, his own anger now rising. "_Stop it_," he growled, low and dangerous. "Don't cheapen what we shared."

She scoffed. "I didn't cheapen it, Loki. You did." He took a step toward her but Taryn's glare, full of all her hate, stopped him in his tracks. She crossed her arms over the ache in her chest. "You know, maybe I should even feel flattered, right? After all, you're a _god_ and I'm just a lowly mortal. Should I get down on my knees and thank you for the divine dicking?"

Loki was breathing deeply now, clearly holding onto his temper with both hands. "You owe me two boons," he said in a voice like gravel.

Taryn laughed bitterly. "Oh, of course, how could I forget that? You're not done fucking me. What do you want now? My pride? My self-respect? No, wait, you already took those."

She could hear his knuckles pop from across the room and was glad that she was getting to him. It could never be enough to overcome the humiliation and pain she felt right now, but any kind of revenge was better than none.

He still didn't lose his temper, though. "The first boon. If you find yourself with child from this, you will tell Thor," Loki said through gritted teeth.

Taryn gaped at him for a moment. Then she laughed again, a sound utterly without humor. "If you think for one instant I'm going to have your child–"

Abruptly he was in her face, grasping both arms tight. "_You will tell Thor,_" he snarled in her face. "You owe me this! Swear it!"

Taryn didn't. She lifted her chin and glared right back at him. "Unless your godly sperm is super-charged, I think a Plan B pill will take care of it, so I see no need to swear a damn thing to you."

He swore in some other language and didn't release her. "If you carry my child for so much as an instant the Æsir _and _the Chitauri will know it, and they will come for you no matter if you rid yourself of the babe or not," he ground out. "Thor is the only one who could defend you. Do you understand me? This is for your protection! Swear you will tell him!"

She saw the reasoning well enough and still didn't want to give him her word, just to needle him. But finally she nodded stiffly. Of course she would be on his enemies' radar now. She really had no choice but to agree and he knew it. "And the second request?" she said, her tone now tired, defeated. She should've known better than to try and bargain with the Wordsmith. She spent her life teaching mythology, damn it! She _knew_ mortals never won when they tried to bargain with the gods–most especially the God of Lies.

Loki held her arms for a long moment before releasing her. He turned silently and walked to the door. Only when his hand rested on the doorknob did he finally speak. "Forgive me," he said softly, still facing away from her. "I had no choice."

Taryn wanted to laugh. She wanted to fling those words in his face and make him choke on them. But the pain in his voice stopped her from that, even if it didn't do a thing to ease her own. "You did have a choice. I would've given up everything for you," she whispered. "I would've left it all behind. All you had to do was say the word."

His shoulders were rigid and his knuckles white on the knob. "I would have given almost anything to have said it," he replied quietly. "But the Chitauri… are not forgiving of broken vows. Would you truly wish to spend the rest of your days running from them, only to know they would capture and kill you in the end no matter what you do?"

She remembered the glimpses of the torture Loki had endured in Chitauri custody. Her own brief stint at Fury's hands was a day at the beach by comparison. She swallowed hard, imagining herself in Loki's place, torn apart and tormented as his punishment. Then she forced her next words out, knowing they remained true even if the _one _was her. "One life for an entire planet is still a good deal, Loki."

"Not to me."

The sound of the door closing behind him was barely audible, yet it struck her like a blow. Taryn curled into a ball on the bed where she'd so recently known such bliss and wept with complete despair.


	20. Hubris

**Sorry for the delay! I needed to get the lines exactly right since I'm trying to be movie-compliant here, and I found out my new DVD player won't play my Avengers DVD. And then my computer that usually plays Blu-Ray discs decided to fritz out for a while. (Loki, u mad, bro?) But youtube eventually came to my rescue and it was completed in the end! There's just a couple lines not in the movie. I'm sure you'll forgive me.**

**Enjoy, my lovelies! Of course all the movie stuff is not written by me, but by the brilliant Joss Whedon, and all the credit for that goes to him. Because he is a GOD.**

.

Loki closed the door behind him with all the gentleness and care he hadn't just employed inside the room, a murmured spell sealing Taryn inside with more than locks and steel, and tried to convince himself that his emotions were just as sealed away. They _had _to be locked away now. He'd had his precious stolen time, his taste of peace–but now it was time for war. His master plan.

All the while his chest ached like he'd taken a blow from Mjolnir straight to the heart.

Restless, furious, bitterness choking him, Loki abruptly strode from the penthouse and out onto the balcony. The wind whipped his cape about his shoulders and stung his eyes but he welcomed it–the strong, sharp gale would raise tears from anyone who looked into it as he was now. That was all it was. Nothing at all to do with the death of the only dream he'd allowed himself in centuries, no. Nothing to do with the devastation on Taryn's face, the shock in her eyes, the shame he'd seen there as if that too-short taste of a bliss he had never known and would never know again (not even a single hour, curse the Norns) had been something vulgar, obscene. No, it was merely the wind that made his eyes stream as he stared unseeing over the vast city he would soon control.

Now if only Stark would get here so he could bury that damned ache in a fight! What was taking the blasted man so long?

His eyes and face had dried by the time a mechanical roar notified him that Stark had finally arrived. Loki turned as the engineer (a term unfamiliar to Asgard, where a man such as Stark would be renowned at least as a warrior-mage) landed on the circular platform to Loki's right. Stark matched Loki's slow, confident stride as they locked gazes and walked back toward the penthouse and metal arms rose from Stark's walkway to peel away his armor piece-by-piece.

Well, that was a surprise, at least. Stark had balls, Loki had to give him that. Though many had mocked the god for his use of magic, there were very few who would dare to face him unarmed. Still, despite the display of bravado, he could see the wariness in the man's eyes as he watched Loki pacing across from him, and it pleased him.

Fear, of course, would please him better, but he had time. Loki smiled. It would come.

They entered the penthouse almost at the same time. Loki caught the way the mortal scanned the room as if searching for something–did he know Taryn was here? At the mere suspicion Loki fought the urge to just blast him to pieces right now, remove the warrior from the equation. No, that would not be sufficient, he finally decided. He needed a battle, an actual blood-rushing, fist-pounding _fight_ to erase the pain of losing his one chance at peace, and for what? For creatures just like _this_. The miniscule chance that Stark might know Taryn was here made no difference the retribution Loki would wreak on Midgard for that.

Any trace of a smile gone now, Loki greeted Stark with a low, "Please tell me you're going to appeal to my _humanity_."

"Actually, I'm planning to threaten you," Stark replied without hesitation, and Loki's respect for the man grudgingly rose. Yes, he definitely had courage.

But he was foolish all the same to face Loki with nothing but his wit to protect himself. That was a game at which Loki had never been bested. He hadn't earned the kennings Silvertongue, Wordsmith, Sly-One without reason. "You should've left your armor on for that," Loki said, mocking.

"Yeah, well, it's seen a bit of mileage," Stark admitted, to every appearance unshaken by the implied threat, "and you've got the, ah, the Glow Stick of Destiny." Loki glanced at his scepter, amused despite himself. Perhaps his wit wasn't entirely lacking. "Would you like a drink?" the man went on as he crossed to the bar.

"Stalling me won't change anything," Loki warned, his brief interest already starting to fade as Stark's path took him closer to the bar where Loki had so recently held Taryn, kissed her, tasted her skin. It was a reminder he didn't particularly welcome since he was trying so hard to put it completely out of his mind.

"No, no, no, _threatening,_" Stark replied easily. "No drink, you sure? I'm having one."

That bar held far too many memories and Stark's repeated offer of refreshment galled him. Did humans no longer honor the laws of hospitality? To offer Loki a drink as though he were a guest when Stark knew they would soon battle was a perversion of the ancient code that angered him. In Asgard, a man would not only lose his life for such a thing. His entire family line would be extinguished to cleanse the shame from the land.

Loki turned his back and stared out over the city again, no longer amused at the mortal's insistence on threatening him. As if he could! "The Chitauri are coming. Nothing will change that," he said quietly. Then he met Stark's gaze again. "What have I to fear?"

"The Avengers," Stark replied, still calm, still unruffled as he poured his drink. Then he glanced up and, when he saw that Loki wasn't following, he clarified, "That's what we call ourselves–sort of like a team, Earth's mightiest heroes, kind of thing."

Loki's smile was full of derision. "Yes. I've met them."

Stark responded with a little laugh, acknowledging that. "Takes us a while to get any traction, I'll give you that," he admitted as amber liquid filled his glass. The scent of it was unfamiliar to Loki and not pleasant. "But let's do a headcount, here. Your brother, the demigod–" Loki stifled a hiss at the reminder of Thor; it was always Thor in his way, ruining his plans, taking credit for what achievements Loki had managed on his own, even healing Taryn after SHIELD–

–Loki cut that train of thought off brutally and fixed a mask in place as the mortal continued to name his fellow warriors–a gentle, unworried, amused smile. But even so, he knew that the man had seen his reaction to the mention of Thor and had noted it, and that didn't sit well with Loki.

Stark was still talking, wrapping up the list of Midgardians Loki was apparently supposed to fear. "… and you, big fella, you've managed to piss off every single one of them."

Loki smirked. "That was the plan." _Divide and conquer, you fool, surely even you wretched mortals have heard of that tactic?_

"Not a great plan," Stark scoffed, and Loki raised an eyebrow to hide a brief surge of anger that this mortal, this lesser being, would _dare _to criticize the plans of a god! But he wasn't done. Leaving the bar behind, he stepped closer to Loki. "When they come–and they will–they'll come for you."

Ahh, finally the promised threatening had actually started. Loki stopped his pacing and faced Stark squarely. "I have an army."

"We have a Hulk," Stark shot back, and it was all Loki could do not to roll his eyes.

"I thought the beast had wandered off," he mocked.

"Yeah, you're missing the point," Stark interrupted, finally seeming like he was losing patience. It was something Loki was good at provoking others into doing. "Look, there's no throne. There is no version of this where you come out on top. _Maybe _your army comes and _maybe _it's too much for us, but it's all on you." Stark paused, meeting Loki's cold gaze and holding it with determination. "Because if we can't protect the Earth," he said, every word ringing with menace, "you can be damn sure we'll avenge it."

Loki wasn't moved by his speech. If anything, it only angered him more that this insect, this brief _animal_ would dare to judge his plans–to presume he could even understand them! As if standing alone against all of creation was something _new_ for Loki! Dropping all his masks, Loki let his anger show as he closed the distance between them in a predatory prowl. "How will your friends have time for me," he snarled, raising his staff and letting it fill with power, "when they're so busy fighting _you?_"

The sudden fear in Stark's eyes pleased him as Loki raised the tip of the staff and touched him just over his heart–

–_CLINK–_

Frowning as the power dissipated without effect, Loki repeated the action, and again instead of the staff touching flesh and seizing Stark's heart and will, it was interrupted by–

–_CLINK–_

Loki stared. "This usually works," he murmured, momentarily derailed.

"Yeah, well, performance issues, not that uncommon," Stark murmured, and Loki looked at the mortal in shock that the man would actually mock him–_mock him!_–while Loki held a blade to his chest! And then Stark said, "One in five men, actually, and incidentally, where _is_ your girlfriend?" and the abrupt mention of Taryn brought it all into focus. Loki realized exactly what Stark was implying, that Loki was less than a man–flashed back to that all-too-brief interlude with Taryn, her moans and cries of pleasure and how she'd made him come undone–and rage swallowed him whole.

Stark knew she was here. _He knew she'd come to make a deal, to spare him and his insignificant planet. _And if he knew that, did he know what she'd offered? Did he even now suspect what Loki and Taryn had done? Would this hubristic, arrogant mortal also make it sound cheap, tawdry? Would he call Taryn a whore and mock her for her failure?

_No. _Loki would not endure that.

With those few words, Stark had just sealed his fate.

Loki seized the mortal by the throat and lifted him off his feet, then flung him bodily across the room. Stark landed hard on the marble floor and the sound both pleased Loki and fed his need for more violence. "JARVIS, any time now," Stark groaned as he struggled to his feet, but even after getting thrown like a rag doll, the stupid man did not _shut up._ "Is this how you greeted her, too? No wonder you're in a shitty mood, not the best way to make a girl fall for you–"

Loki strode over as the mortal stood and grabbed him by the jaw, stopping that mouth. His rage was a living thing inside him now, seething and roiling. "You will _all_ fall before me!" he growled, thinking _Taryn chose this man, these _insects_ over me,_ and as Stark choked out, "Deploy, deploy!" Loki threw him with all his considerable might.

The bright smashing sound of glass and the rush of wind were sweet as Stark vanished over the side of the tower and plummeted to his death.

A sound behind Loki made him spin around just in time to duck as a large metal capsule shot out of the wall. It caught him a glancing blow on its way out the broken glass after Stark. Loki rolled to his feet in one smooth motion and crossed to the shattered window. He looked down after it but it was already too far down for him to catch sight of and discern its purpose–it was too large to merely be something to knock Loki down, and its lack of a follow-up attack when he'd dodged the first left him doubtful it was only a weapon.

No matter. He dismissed it as he spun away to retrieve his staff. Weapon or not, he would destroy it just as he'd destroyed its creator.

"Oh yeah, and there's one more person you pissed off."

Loki's head snapped up to find Stark floating before him, armored once more, and anger warred with reluctant admiration as he belatedly realized the projectile had caught and armored the man before he could hit the pavement–this mortal was nearly as clever as Loki himself, it seemed. "His name was Phil," Stark said, and Loki raised his staff to blast him out of the sky just as Stark held out his hand. Stark got his blast off first and Loki snarled as he took it full in the chest and was knocked across the room.

And then the portal opened, and the Chitauri swarmed down into the blue Midgardian skies. Iron Man shot away to engage the sudden barrage of foes and Loki smiled, eyes narrow with wrath.

Now the true battle would begin.


End file.
